


Between the Lines

by andveryginger



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family, Gap Filler, Knights of the Fallen Empire Spoilers, SWTOR: Annihilation, SWTOR: The Lost Suns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 24,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andveryginger/pseuds/andveryginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life continues between chapters for our intrepid heroes, beyond Alliance Alerts and dismantling Star Fortresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Shifting Paradigm

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt to fill the gap between chapters, and to make up for the dearth of companion interaction in "Knights of the Fallen Empire." 
> 
> Posted in (mostly) no particular order, without beta, straight out of my writing journal. All mistakes you see are definitely my own.

**Chapter** **Summary:** Months after re-establishing their relationship, Theron Shan and the Outlander stumble into a new normal. (Spoilers for KotFE; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK)).

* * *

 

She would never know for certain what woke her, but when she reached for the opposite side of the bed, she found it empty. She’d actually known that it would be, even before she did, yet followed through anyway. The sheets and blanket were still lukewarm, however, so they had not been deserted long.

Throwing back her own portion of the covers, she scrambled into her clothes – a simple tunic and pants, appropriate enough for the commander to be seen in during the wee hours. She frowned as she stepped into a pair of sandals. Something felt…different, though she couldn’t say what. There would be meditation later, perhaps with some assistance from Sana-Rae.

The sliding door opened for her automatically and HK-55 came to attention. “Query: Is anything amiss, Commander?”

Annya smiled softly. “I hope not, HK,” she replied. “You saw Agent Shan depart?”

“Response: Affirmative.” The golden head bobbed once, matching articulated fingers directed toward the war room. “Meatbag identified as Agent Shan reported he required fresh air.”

“Thanks, HK.” The Jedi knew now where she would find him. She padded down the corridor as the assassin droid indicated, passing through the main planning room. It was exceedingly quiet with only SCORPIO and T-7 currently on station. The others, of course, would still be asleep. Best to get the rest while they can, she thought.

Steering right, Annya headed for the hangar. Wing maintenance was, for the most part, a round-the-clock activity, so the clatter of work – machines, people, tools – echoed down the stone corridor. The techs were too busy to pay her any mind, but a few of the hovering mercenaries offered a brief greeting. She returned each one. As she climbed the gated ramp to the overlook, she could sense their curious gazes on her back.

Continuing down the catwalk, she left the bustle of the hangar bay behind, rounding the corner into the twilight…and stopped.

Sense. That’s what was different. She could _sense_ Theron. Not just his life essence as a part of the whole, and not just the tiny sliver she’d come to recognize as his mother’s legacy. That same tendril was now wider – brighter – than before. She blinked in recognition, her heart filling as she felt him tentatively reach for her in the Force.

He was seated in meditation on the metal grating, gaze directed toward her ship and the twinkling stars beyond. “When I was a kid, Master Zho kept telling me to feel the plants, the animals, the sand beneath my feet. It was all part of this beautiful, encompassing… _thing_ that was the Force,” he said slowly. His voice was low, gritty. It reflected well the emotions she felt radiating through him.

“I could never really feel it,” he continued. “Definitely couldn’t _wield_ whatever tenuous link I had. And so, when it was clear I would never make Jedi, I was turned out from the temple. It – and the hut with Master Zho – was the only home I ever knew. And I didn’t even have the welcoming embrace of the Force to soften the blow.”

Annya stood in silence as he talked, drawing in the raw emotions he was struggling through. She could feel the Force sweeping through him, almost _see_ it enveloping his form. “It took a long while for me to find my feet again; to come up with a ‘Plan B;’ ‘Plan A’ – mastering the Force as a Jedi – was all there ever was. But the son of Satele Shan was never going to be a Jedi.”

“So SIS was mostly home. It suited my adventurous streak, my restlessness; my skill set. And, hey, despite all his complaints, Marcus put up with me.” He gave a snort. “I know he’s always suspected it’s been the Force steering my sheer dumb luck. Maybe he was right. But field work is something I’ve always been good at – on my own – and not as the Grandmaster’s son.”

Lowering herself to the catwalk beside him, Annya was careful not to touch him just that instant. She felt the connection between them, similar to her training bond with Master Orgus, yet deeper and very …different. “This was nothing you were expecting,” she said aloud.

“Not in a million eons,” Theron replied. “Still nothing wieldable, but it’s… more than I ever…” He paused. “It’s more than I’ve ever sensed before. I… I’m not quite sure how to feel about it.”

Annya felt her lips twitch in a rueful smile. “If it’s any consolation, this wasn’t something I was expecting, either.”

The former SIS operative arched a brow. “So, before, with Kimble –“

“No,” she replied, effectively cutting short his question. “…which, in perfect hindsight only emphasizes the mistake.”

Theron studied her profile for a long moment. “He wanted to marry you.”

She nodded, grimacing. “He did. And I turned him down, much to his relief. We both knew he wasn’t the marriage type, and, well, I was a Jedi, of the Order. Attachments were forbidden. I… knew I didn’t feel strongly enough to face off with the Council for him.”

He visibly swallowed and she felt the spike of heartache, uncertainty, and the tiniest bit of hope that sought to catch hold. “And now?”

“And now…” she began slowly, “circumstances are very different.”

“I could never ask you to leave the Order, Annya. I know what that means –“

“I know you wouldn’t.” The Jedi placed her hand over his. “But I’m afraid I’m becoming very much attached to you, Agent Shan.”

Covering her hand with his own, Theron nodded, then looked her in the eye. The link between them hummed and sparked, even as his lips thinned. “The feeling is mutual, Lady Emrys.”

The sincerity of the words and sentiment between them struck both with their strength. They sat in silence for a long moment, allowing it to settle over them, before either spoke again. Unsurprisingly, it was Theron who finally spoke. “We should try and get some sleep,” he said. “Jorgan’s dropping in early tomorrow for a quick infodump.”

Annya could sense how much restraint and control he wielded to stay focused at the moment. Had he not trained under Master Zho, she thought, he might have been overwhelmed. He was, instead, handling his fledgling connection as well as any advanced padawan. He knew how; he simply had to recall his lessons. It gave her hope that, after a bit of adjustment, he would be comfortable with this new development… even if his connection amplified.

She could also, she noted, sense how much he wanted to kiss her at that moment. For now, however, they sat on the catwalk above the hanger, a far too public location. Standing, Annya looked down at him with a rueful smile and offered him a hand. “We’re still gonna need more caf than we have on hand.”

Theron took her hand and stood. “I’ll have a chat with Hylo about that,” he replied. He didn’t release her hand as they padded back the way Annya had come only a few moments before.


	2. Deja Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satele has a moment as she realizes history may yet repeat itself. (KotFE spoilers; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again straight from my writing journal, with little editing before posting. Written as a means of getting my head around a few things. Takes place shortly after “Shifting Paradigm,” but, I think, before “Like Father, Like Son.”

Satele Shan stood on the high plateau overlooking the Alliance base. It was a hive of activity, familiar white Republic armor rattling along side the dark, foreign allow that protected Imperial troops, even as known smugglers jetted to and from. A study in contrasts, she thought. Not unlike the unusual friendship she now shared with the Force-presence of Darth Marr. This war -- this new war -- had a strange way of drawing people together.  
  
Movement in the field below caught in her peripheral vision and her attention shifted. The red hull of the _Defender_ -class corvette stood out starkly against the green grass, a figure moving through the shadows beneath it. Before he stepped back into the light, she could sense it was Theron.  
  
Her son.  
  
Reaching out through the Force, she sought the unique signature that was his, the one she’d felt as intimately as her own since he was little more than a micron. To anyone else, it might have felt that of an average, non-attuned Human male. But Satele knew better. A gentle smile crept across her features as the tiny sliver of light at his core hummed silently in recognition.

Tiny though it was -- so small he had been unable to complete training with Master Zho -- the sliver was her legacy to him. It sharpened his senses, fostered his perceptions, and honed his instincts. Theron would never admit it, but he knew it as well.

As her awareness stretched the divide between them, however, she noted that the tiny sliver was no longer a sliver. It was now somehow brighter, a slender thread swirling through his essence, pulsing with the beat of his heart.

Her brow furrowed. How had this happened? Late awakenings weren’t impossible, she knew, but they were uncommon. Often, they were brought about by intense events in a person’s life. Satele knew, however, that, as an SIS operative, Theron’s life had been little more than a series of intense events. He thrived under the stress and rush of adrenaline. So what, in the last two years had changed to trigger such a change?

Then the shadows beyond him shifted, and another joined Theron in the Odessen sun. Red hair glinted in the light and a lightsaber on each hip exaggerated their sway. Recognition came to the elder Jedi immediately -- Annya Emrys, Jedi Knight, and senior member of the Alliance against the Eternal Empire.

It was the first time since the knight’s return that Satele had been close enough to observe. Five years in carbonite had effectively frozen her aging process, leaving her much the same as she had been five years prior, dispatched to meet with Darth Marr. She had even retained the blue, two-piece ensemble she had favored throughout her knighthood. A ripple in the Force around her hinted at an inner sadness, an internal struggle of some kind, but she was, as ever, one of the brightest points Satele had ever met.

Prior to her disappearance, Annya worked closely with Theron. They made a good team, he’d later confessed to her over tea. Knowing his reputation as a loner, the admission caught her by surprise. Was this really her son, she wondered with a laugh.

Her son, who engineered the rescue of his partner from Zakuul.

Her son, who now stood in the field below, gloved hand coming to rest against the lower back of the Jedi Knight.

Her son, whose Force signature now danced, intertwined with that of the Jedi beside him.

Realization settled heavily over the former Grandmaster. The signs had all been there, of course -- she could see that now, could sense the emotions so familiar to her. Why hadn’t she seen it earlier? Why hadn’t the Force shown her sooner?

“Because it was not your place, Satele,” said a well-recognized voice. Turning, she found the familiar features of Ngani Zho regarding her. Like Marr, however, he shone through the Force, a ghostly blue mist. “Because of the fear that grips your heart.”

“Master,” she whispered. She’d thought her friend and mentor long gone. “How --?”

“A short visit, I promise you.”

“But Theron…?”

“Theron is his father’s son,” Master Zho said. A wry grin twitched at his lips. “In at least one way.”

Satele regarded her former master, a rueful glint to almond-shaped eyes. “We always suspected there was more there.” She shook her head, looking down, then back to Zho. Her expression sobered as images of herself and Jace flashed across her mind’s eye, echoed in visions of Annya and Theron. She watched, in her vision, as Annya turned and walked away from her son... exactly as she had walked away from Jace.

The former Grandmaster sighed. _There is no emotion; only peace_ , she thought, drawing in a deep breath. It was impossible to tell how much of her own history, of her own fear for her son was clouding her vision. “She’s a Jedi, Master.“

“She’s Corellian, Satele.”

Satele grimaced. She wasn’t sure she liked where that train of thought took her, either: Marriage; children; a Force legacy, born into a galaxy torn apart. She drew in another deep breath. _There is no emotion, only peace_ , she echoed mentally _._ “Corellian or no,” she said aloud, “Annya has lived and trained by the Code. The Code does not accommodate attachments.”

“It's a Code for an order that no longer exists; a Code that you, yourself, defied.” Ngani studied her profile. “One that you will undoubtedly defy again.”

He paused a beat. When he spoke again, his voice was warm, gentle. It also, she noted, carried the weight of truth. “It’s their time, Satele. They must meet their destiny as you meet yours.”

Satele swallowed, muscles in her jaw ticking as she struggled to dissipate the tangled emotions that settled heavily in her gut. She nodded. “I know, Master,” she replied quietly. Her gaze followed her son and the Jedi knight as they returned to the shelter of the caves. “I know.”


	3. A Good Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Color has symbolism, even in a time long, long ago, far, far away. Takes place just after "Deja Vu." (KotFE spoilers; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys [female JK])

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More filler fic for Fallen Empire. Posted without beta or extensive editing, straight from my writing journal.

Annya Emrys stood at the side of her bed, eyes fixed on the clothing laid across it: A pair of fitted trousers with reinforced knees, embossed leather waist drape, and a midriff-baring wrap tunic with embossed leather accents. Truth be told, it was almost exactly what she’d worn for years, through countless adventures. The only difference was that, unlike her previous outfit, made in shades of blue and brown, this new ensemble was crafted in coordinating shades of green.

Outside of the Order, such a color shift might not seem significant. The (in)famous Green Jedi of Corellia still carried lightsabers and wielded the Force for the greater good. They were, to the outside observer, still Jedi.

But the Green Jedi of Corellia were different from those of the Order. Unlike their Tython-based counterparts, for example, Corellian Jedi focussed generally on the welfare of Corellia, not the Republic at large; they protected their homes, their communities, their families. And they were allowed families of their own -- to marry, to have children. Training, then, became a family affair, knowledge passed from one generation to the next.

It was into this tradition that Annya had been born. Her parents, Hamilton and Adrie Emrys, had been Force-sensitive, but not strong enough to become Jedi. Thus, when Annya showed a clear aptitude for the Force, the task of training fell to her favorite aunt, Adela.

Before she could complete her training, however, Adela was killed during a bombardment of the enclave in Coronet. Fearing for her safety -- in more ways that one -- Hamilton made the only choice he could: He smuggled his youngest daughter to the Jedi Temple on Tython. There, she was taken in and trained by a senior member of the council. The rest, she reasoned, was history.

Despite her upbringing, Annya had never expected to don the green. She respected and cared for her master. Staying true to the Code seemed a way of demonstrating that.

But Corellia was still in ruins; Imperial, Zakuulian, and Republic forces entrenched around the planet. Her parents had been forced out of their home, often staying in the Coruscant apartment originally designated for the family business. Worse, surviving members of the Order were now scattered to the winds, some hiding, some fighting.

How could she remain true to an Order that had all but disappeared? She was, for most intents and purposes, on her own.

And then there was Theron. What had begun as flirtation had progressed so far beyond. An SIS agent with a rocky history, he kept his emotions close to his vest. But it had been Theron who had organized her rescue; Theron that searched five years for her ship; Theron who would move land and sea to keep this Alliance afloat. She knew how he felt about her… and the feeling was entirely mutual. Embracing him -- and their relationship -- meant embracing her heritage.

It meant donning the green.

***

Theron could sense her before he saw her, looking up from his Alderaanian ale. His gaze followed her as she wove through the patrons, offering the occasional greeting or nod of acknowledgement. He noted she had changed her favorite outfit.

...she wore green.

Theron knew she was Corellian -- had recent gone back to help out an old friend who was now in CorSec. He knew also that she’d completed her training on Tython, a member of the revered Order. But members of the Order didn’t generally wear green. Then again, he mused with some bitterness, members of the Order don’t form attachments, either.

But Green Jedi -- _Corellian_ Jedi did.

The realization settled over him with an odd rush -- a jumble of emotions he couldn’t even begin to sort. He recognized the sheer, unadulterated panic that spiked through him, as well as a sense of confusion and frustration. She hadn’t felt the need to discuss this with him, after all, and he wasn’t entirely sure yet that this was a permanent attachment kind of thing.

But even as he thought it, his heart swelled with hope. Her peace balanced his more restless nature, her faith in the Force a balance for his cynicism. She also had a way of seeing the wider world while he toiled down in the weeds. She was more than a match for him.

The thought gave him pause. She was more practical, more reasoned, more measured in her decision making. So, while flattering, Theron knew he couldn’t be the only reason for the change. He suspected the recent trip to Corellia might have something to do with it as well.

She approached the table and he could feel her own jumble of emotions -- dissipating as slow as they were -- adding to his own. Anxiety mixed with resolve, curiosity and a hint of amusement. Theron felt his own panic dissolve, regaining his equilibrium. He gave her a lopsided grin. “Green’s a good color for you.”

Her expression echoed his as she slipped into the booth next to him. “I felt like it was time for a change.”

He watched as she reached for his ale. His gaze held hers over the rim as she took a long sip, then returned the mug to the table before him. “That mean you’ve left the Order?” he asked.

Annya pursed her lips and considered her answer for a moment. “For now, it seems there _is_ no Order; we’re scattered among the stars. I can’t be a member of something that doesn’t exist.”

“But you’re not ready to go hole up on Corellia and let the rest of us sort it all out either.”

Annya shook her head. “Not now. Not yet -- maybe not ever. I can’t be sure what the future holds. All I know is that _this_ is where I am now -- _who_ I am now.”

“Does this --” Theron paused, clearing the knot that suddenly rose in his throat. “Does this mean you want to go public? I know we haven’t exactly been sneaking around, but…”

A smirk curled across her lips as she finished his thought. “But we’ve hardly announced things from the rooftops.”

“Exactly.” Theron diverted his gaze to his mug, turning it idly in place. Drawing a deep breath, she steeled against the unfamiliar flutter of nerves. “I know I -- we -- can’t be the only reason for the change, but I… know the difference. What it can mean.”

“Theron,” Annya began slowly, “I’m not sure _either_ of us is prepared for everything this can mean. We can just… be in the moment and see where it takes us.”

He offered a soft smile, leaning forward. “I think that’s a new beginning I can live with.”

***

Lana Beniko raised a brow in surprise, watching as Commander Emrys wove her way through the room. “Well,” she said. “Isn’t that interesting.”

“Hm?” Beside her, Koth leaned heavily against the bar, brow furrowed as he watched the Jedi settle in beside Theron Shan at the far table. He spotted Annya, clad in an outfit similar to her usual one, but green. “Nice color on her.”

“You could almost say,” Lana replied, “she was born to wear it.” A wry smile twitched across the Sith’s lips. This, she thought, was going to be interesting to watch.


	4. Like Father, Like Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron has a chat with Jace. After all, it’s a subject Jace knows quite a bit about. (Spoilers for KotFE; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (female JK))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again posted without beta, straight from the journal. Any mistakes you see are entirely my own.

Seated on his sofa, Jace Malcom watched as his son, Theron Shan, sat on the loveseat opposite him, swirling a particularly nice Corellian brandy in his tumbler. His gaze was fixed on the amber fluid, but Malcom suspected his attention was focused elsewhere.

“The brandy doesn’t bite,” he said with a grin. He paused a beat. “Well, not nearly as much as the last time.”

Theron looked up, blinking a moment as he refocused on the senior commander. He gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Jace,” he replied. “Nothing against the hospitality.”

Malcom nodded. “I suspected as much.” He took a sip of his own drink. “I know we’re not exactly the perfect holo of father and son, but I _can_ offer an ear.”

At this, Theron gave a snort, darkly amused by something. Jace waited as the younger man looked down at his drink again before speaking. “I suppose if there’s anyone I can talk to about this, it’s you.

“I…’m seeing someone,” he continued slowly. “It started pretty casually – we’re both in the field a lot, and the job doesn’t make it easy to plan a romantic rendezvous. So, neither of us really thought it would be a regular thing.”

“But that changed.”

“I’ve never been much of a team player” – Theron paused as Jace offered his own snort – “but we worked together – really well. So well that I pretty much sought out every opportunity I could to work with her. I flirted; she flirted back. Things were… good.

“Then she… dropped off the radar for a while. I had a lot of time to think – probably too much.”

“You realized things weren’t so ‘casual’?”

The former SIS operative grimaced. “Not so much, no.”

Jace regarded his son with a furrowed brow. Why was Theron confiding in him about this? His instincts – honed in fields both operational and political – supplied the answer. But Theron seemed to need to confess it aloud. “So drop the other shoe.”

Theron looked to his father with a brief hint of amusement before sobering. “She’s a Jedi.”

Inwardly, Malcom cursed his instincts. For all the relationship between them was new, he found a protective nature emerging where Theron was concerned. He hadn’t wanted to be right. “You _do_ like living dangerously, don’t you?”

“Or unwittingly following my parents’ example?”

Jace winced, but gave a rueful smile and nodded. “Point taken.” He paused. “You know there isn’t usually a happy ending for this right? The Order doesn’t exactly advocate for permanent attachments.”

“The Order doesn’t exactly exist at the moment.”

“That still doesn’t mean that she’s going to be willing to –“

“She’s Corellian.”

Jace stopped, blinking. _That_ put a different spin on things, he thought. “Green Jedi?”

“No. Well, yes.” His son frowned. “It’s… complicated. But she’s recently pulled out the green…”

“For you?”

“For lots of reasons,” Theron replied. “Loss of the Order; the state of Corellia; their history of patriotism and defiance.” He shrugged. “I seem to be one among many reasons.”

“Sounds fairly serious.”

“I…” The younger man ran a hand over his hair. “Maybe it is.”

Jace knew he was unable to keep the surprise from his features. Sometime before, after he’d discovered Theron was his son, the Supreme Commander of Republic Forces checked discretely on the man. Everything he’d learned led him to the same analysis: Theron Shan was a stubborn, workaholic loner who was practically married to his job. His patriotism was unquestionable, but he did not suffer fools well… and he currently considered Chancellor Saresh a fool. Yet, here the man sat, confessing to him – Jace – his father – that he might have found a partner, in and out of the field. It was enough to stun any man.

“Should I ask who this remarkable woman is?”

Theron lowered his chin, raising only his eyes. “Annya Emrys.”

The swallow of brandy lodged in Jace’s throat. “Annya Emrys? As in Battlemaster of the Order?”

“And current leader of the Alliance?” Shan added, then nodded. “One and the same.”

“Force, Theron,” the senior man muttered. “Satele is going to have a caniption… provided she survived the purge.” He swallowed back the knot that rose in his throat.

“She did.”

Jace fought back the surge of hope that swelled with the conviction in Theron’s voice. According to his dossier and information gleaned from Marcus Trant, Theron was, like him, Force-blind –  he had no sensitivity to speak of. As a young man, he’d left the tutelage of Satele’s own master, Ngani Zho, only to be turned away from the temple enclave. Eventually, he had earned a place with the SIS. Marcus – and Satele – still attributed much of Theron’s instinctive reactions and survivability to some sort of innate Force connection. Theron himself believed otherwise… or at least he _had_.

“I always thought you took after me,” Malcom replied cautiously.

“Yeah, about that…” Theron cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Whatever connection I had is… stronger now. It seems I can use it to sense others I’m close to… even the Grandmaster. Still, finding her is a bit murky – a bit like swimming in muddy water and someone is stirring the silt from the bottom.”

“Then you don’t know where she is.”

The younger man shook his head. “I only know she’s alive. Even with all the training Master Zho managed, I still wouldn’t be able to pinpoint her location.”

“So she doesn’t want to be found.” It was more of a statement than a question. Though their acquaintance had changed significantly over the years, some things about the Grandmaster had not changed. She would appear only when she was good and ready.

“Not yet.”

Jace looked at his son for a long moment. A few more grey hairs sprouted at his temples, the worry lines at the corners of his mouth – so like his mother – were deeper than they had been the night father and son first met. The fight, it seemed, had aged him, though he wore it well. Malcom hoped for peace before the former SIS operative went completely grey.

“You have the damnedest timing.”

The corner of Theron’s lips twitched. “Like father –“

“Like son,” Jace finished for him. “I get it. Just…take care of each other out there. Maybe you’ll live to see your happy ending.”

Theron raised his glass in salute. “Maybe.” He then downed the last of his Corellian brandy.


	5. Flutter Kicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something different that Lana just can’t quite put her finger on… (KotFE spoilers; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place prior to Chapter 12 of “Knights of the Fallen Empire”; follows on shortly after “A Shifting Paradigm.” Probably considered AU at this point, ‘cause I’m playing with an idea. Posted with only editing by the author.

Furrowing her brow, Lana Beniko looked up from her datapad to glance around the room. She was greeted by familiar sights and sounds: The steady drone of coolant fans, punctuated by the occasional beep of a console. Koth pacing back and forth at the planning table, the metal grating beneath their feet offering an echo of each step. To his left, Senya did her best to ignore him, even as Tee-Seven and SCORPIO sifted through data beyond her. Everything _seemed_ the same – mundane, even. And yet…

She could sense it – a tiny flutter in the Force, one that had nagged at her since waking. It was as though it had shifted, embraced someone else, someone new. As a result, the background whisper to which she was so accustomed had increased everso slightly. Lana knew the signature felt familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

Sighing, she looked down at the datapad. Such mysteries would have to wait. For now, she had yet more intelligence reports from Jorgan and his team that needed distribution – reports that seemed to indicate a location for the communications array used to control the Eternal Fleet. It was the type of information on a timer: It had to be acted upon before Arcann, Vaylin, and their Knights of Zakuul were aware it had been stolen. Thus, both Theron and Commander Emrys would want to see this, she knew, to begin planning their next operation.

Glancing back up, she noted Theron wasn’t at his usual station. Her attention darted to the console beside her. It was already after evening mess, their official shifts having ended some time before. And, while most knew how to relax, she knew Theron to be quite the workaholic. If he wasn’t here, working, she had a pretty good idea where to find him.

Lana headed across the metal grating, down the stairs, then hooked left toward the smugglers’ alcove. Chatter from the impromptu lounge Visz had established echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the faint aroma of illegal spirits detectable for only a microsecond. The assassin droid stood guard beside the door about halfway down the hall. It didn’t even blink – did they blink, she wondered? – as she rounded the corner into the commander’s office.

Theron Shan sat alone on the curved, starship interior-inspired couch. His booted feet were propped onto the backlit coffee table, attention focussed on the datapad in one hand. He sipped absently from a cup of caf in the other. Lana couldn’t help but think he looked imminently comfortable, and very much at home. Then again, she mused, he spent more time here than in the quarters he ostensibly shared with Jorgan.

Thus, it was not a particularly surprising sight that greeted her. What _was_ surprising, however, was the intensity with which his Force signature hummed among the ambient clutter. _Theron Shan_ was the source of the nagging flutter? Lana blinked. What the…?

“You can stop staring at my profile and just ask, Lana.”

The Sith cleared her throat, struggling to find her voice. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just – I didn’t know you – I’m not accustomed to –”

“My having a Force presence?” A lopsided grin twitched across his lips, eyes alight with dark amusement. Lana could only nod. “Not exactly something I’m used to, either.”

Crossing to the couch, she slowly lowered herself onto the cushions near him. “Late awakenings aren’t unheard of among the Sith,” she commented. “Rare, but possible. Unfortunately, most don’t survive the experience. And if they do… Let’s simply say they’re never quite the same.”

The former SIS operative frowned. “There’s a cheery thought.” He sighed and placed his own datapad on the cushion between them. “Wait. You couldn’t tell it was me before you walked in?”

“I noticed something felt… _different_ ,” Lana said, shaking her head, “but I spent the morning forcing myself to ignore it. There were too many other things that desperately needed my attention.” She gave a rueful smile and settled back a bit on the sofa. “You’re shielding exceedingly well.”

A wince flickered across his features, eyes clouding for a brief instant before he blinked it away. Recomposed, he gave a snort. “I had a good teacher… before he went crazy, at least,” he said. “Master Zho never accepted I was all but Force-blind.” Pausing, he shrugged a shoulder. “Still, all that discipline was useful in the field. Never expected to use it for its intended purpose.”

She tilted her head to the side, taking a long moment to truly observe the man she had come to know. They’d started their partnership out of necessity – to defeat first Lord Revan and then Vitiate – with no small amount of mistrust. And yet, when Annya had been captured by Arcann, Lana had been the first person to whom he had turned. Over the course of the five years it took to find the Jedi, plan, and then lay-on an operation, he had opened up… _slightly_. Even then, his childhood had not been a frequent topic of conversation. She had sensed the pain associated with it; still often heard the bitterness with which he could refer to the Force.

And yet his success in the field (often despite himself) _had_ to be guided by a greater current. His senses were just too good, his instincts tuned just a little too well for a man who considered himself Force-blind. No, Theron Shan had always been his mother’s son. It was only now that he – and any Force user nearby – could feel the warmth of Light threading through this new broader, brighter signature.

“No, I don’t suppose you did.” Lana paused a beat, eyes darting down to the datapad as she struggled to sort the questions currently flooding her mind. Why now? Had his relationship with the commander somehow sparked an awakening? Or had Vitiate – _Valkorion_ , she reminded herself – somehow started the process for his own purposes?

Inwardly, she sighed. One question she knew invaded the privacy both Theron and Annya struggled to maintain, while the other, following so closely on such a startling development, could feel accusatory. She swallowed, taking a moment before finding another tack. “And Annya? How’s she handling this?”

His gaze drifted over her head, attention directed toward the hangar, where she knew the commander was meeting with Admiral Aygo. He gave a slight chuckle and shook his head, confirming what she suspected – a Force-bond of sorts had formed between the two. “She’s… as surprised as I am.”

“I rather expect she would be.” A wry grin curved her lips as she regarded her colleague. “I suppose this means you’ll be trading in the blaster for a saber?”

At this, Theron tossed his head back and gave a sharp, sarcastic laugh. “Not on your life!” They both knew his sensitivity was nowhere near what it should be to effectively wield the signature weapon of a Jedi. “Ahn has two. I think that’s more than enough for both of us.”

A brief quiet passed between them as the humor of the moment faded back into the more immediate concerns. He regarded her with a crease in his brow. “So if you couldn’t tell it was me, why’d you come looking for me?”

Lana held up the datapad. “New intelligence from Havoc Squad. It seems they might have found the source of the transmissions.”

Theron arched a brow, immediately re-engaging into work mode. “No small feat.”

“No, I’d imagine not.” Glancing back over her shoulder, she turned her attention back to the operative. “We should probably discuss a few options with the commander.”

Lana watched as he placed his datapad and cold cup of caf onto the table, dropping his feet back to the metal grating. He then rose and crossed to the crate behind them currently pressed into service as a sidetable. A pot of caf, extra cups, and all the add-ins sat, waiting. He flipped a clean cup, filling it with the steaming brew. “She’s on her way,” he said, tossing in a few measures of sweetener.

Commander Emrys entered the room before Lana could form a response. She walked with purpose, slowing only once she was fully inside the confines of her refuge. The redhead nodded a greeting which the Sith returned. Lana then watched as her counterpart gave a lopsided grin to Theron, taking the cup from him without a word. He watched her, his expression mirroring hers, as she sipped the steaming nectar.

There was another beat – clearly more communication among their link, Lana realized, though their faces remained more neutral. It was then that Annya turned to her. “New intelligence from Jorgan?”

The Sith struggled to maintain her own neutral expression. This new little development was going to make things _very_ interesting, she mused. Aloud, she simply said, “I think you’ll find it interesting reading, if a bit dry,” and offered up the datapad.


	6. Unflappable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron Shan is unflappable... or that’s the image he fosters. So when Lana sees him stagger in the midst of an intel briefing, she knows something is wrong. (KotFE spoilers; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys [female JK])

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler-fic for the events of KotFE, Chapter 12. Posted without beta or extensive editing, straight from my writing journal.

Theron Shan was unflappable... or at least, that was the image the former Republic operative fostered. As a result, it was the general consensus among those who had worked with him. Restless? Yes. Rebellious? Certainly. But he usually recovered from whatever the field threw at him, quickly shifting from “Plan B” to Plan “X”, “Y”, or “Z,” depending on the severity of the situation. So when Lana saw him stagger in the midst of a briefing, she knew something was wrong.

A quick glance to both Senya and the holoimage of Jorgan confirmed that they, too, had noticed. “Major, would you mind taking over from here?” she asked. “Agent Shan and I will try to raise Commander Emrys.”

“Understood,” the Cathar replied with a curt nod. He had already launched into a summary of the communications facility by the time Lana stepped aside and grasped Theron by the arm. She didn’t stop until they had reached the relative privacy of the commander’s quarters.

The Sith looked over her colleague with a diagnostic eye, nudging gently at his Force presence. “Theron?”

Blinking to refocus, Theron looked back to Lana. “I’m fine,” he said. The taut pitch in his voice said otherwise, however.

“Theron, I just dragged you away from an intelligence briefing.” Lana eyed him skeptically. “You’re _not_ ‘fine.’”

His lips thinned and he regarded her for a long moment, golden brown eyes assessing her fortitude on the matter. She must have easily communicated her refusal to budge because he eventually sighed, looking away. His hands came to rest on his hips. “Our connection’s gone.”

The admission was so quiet that Lana took a moment to process what had been said. “Gone? As in --?” Whether for his sake or her own, she couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

“I don’t think so.” Theron shook his head with a frown. “She was there... and then she...wasn’t.There was no warning -- no fear, no adrenaline, no cries for help. Like someone just flipped a switch.”

Folding her arms across her chest, Lana mulled over the situation. “She _did_ go to try and communicate with Valkorion,” she said. “It’s possible he’s temporarily severed the connection for his own reasons.”

The former SIS operative scowled and began to pace the small, open area beside the couch arrangement. “He’s the reason we’re here in the first place,” he muttered. “If he really wants to stop his own kids, he should be willing to share with the rest of the class.”

“Something tells me,” Lana replied slowly, “that Vitiate -- _Valkorion’s_ not the sharing type.”

“Neither am I.” He made another lap of his small route. His control was strong, she noted, but she could feel the turmoil inside begin to tip slowly over as the moments passed: fear, concern, frustration, irritation, and anger, which spiked briefly before dissipating. How he had managed it, Lana wasn’t sure, attributing it to his early training.

“He hasn’t harmed her,” she pointed out. Her gaze followed him, much the way someone might follow a wallball match. “If anything, he’s protected her.”

“That’s because he needs her.” Theron grimaced. “Or says that he does. I’m more worried about when he decides she’s no longer useful. What happens then? What if...” He paused, drawing a breath before finishing his thought. “What if that’s now?”

Lana regarded him for a long moment, following his strides to and from, studying the emotions flickering through him and across his features. Like most operatives, he had always been a loner: No one else to worry about -- no partner, no close family, no significant other. He’d also worried very little about himself, really, if she was honest. Usually, he was concerned only with surviving a mission, not necessarily the condition in which he did so. Worry about someone else was new to him. She was not yet ready to say how well he was handling the change.

Of course, worrying about the Outlander was new to her as well. Relationships, romantic or otherwise, were best used for personal gain. Thus, true friendships, where the parties trusted one another, were exceedingly rare among the Sith. It was only through her work with the Alliance, watching interactions between Jedi, troopers, and even smugglers that she began to understand. And, while trust was a rare commodity between Sith and Jedi, Annya had thus far been willing to take a chance. Mutual respect allowed them to form a tentative friendship that Lana was forced to admit she did not wish to lose.

“You said yourself, you felt no adrenaline spike; no fear,” she began slowly. Her mind tumbled through a logical path, knowing Theron would prefer she speak her mind, rather than share worn platitudes. “If he truly wanted her dead, you would have sensed something -- he’d have no desire to prolong the experience, much less close you out.”

Her lips thinned. “He’d _want_ you to sense her.”

At this, Theron stopped, turning to regard her with strangely neutral expression, his gaze flitting over her features as his mind caught up to what he saw and heard. He nodded. His hands came back to rest on his hips. “So how long do we wait before we send out search and rescue?”

“We don’t.” Lana almost chuckled, sensing his surprise. “If Vitiate -- _Valkorion_ \-- decides to make a point, Annya may very well need our assistance. We’ll deploy the sensor droids, see if we can at least locate her.”

Agent Shan nodded. “I’ll try and raise her on the comm, but…”

“But?” The Sith prompted, feeling a wave of uncertainty ripple around him.

“One of us should visit the enclave -- see if Sana-Rae or any of the others have sensed anything.”

It wasn’t a _bad_ idea, she thought, but it was likely a waste a time. Even if he didn’t quite trust this new Force sensitivity, Theron, himself, would be the first to sense a change. At the same time, Lana recognized his growing restlessness: He needed to feel he was doing _something_ to rescue the Jedi. The Alliance, however, needed his skills more at the moment.

“I’ll go,” she replied. “You should complete the briefing and get to work with Jorgan. We’ve got to start building a timetable for the operation.”

Theron nodded. “Right.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “The war continues.”

“It does. And, sooner or later, Annya’s going to walk through those doors with something to help us win it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Lana gave a smile, wider than she felt at that moment. “You know I am. Now go -- before I have Ogurobb sedate you.”

The former operative took the jab in the spirit it was offered, giving a slight chuckle before disappearing into the corridor. Someone had to keep the war going, after all. Lana watched him go and sighed. _Force, don’t let me be wrong..._


	7. Holding Pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the botched operation, Lana has a few things to say to Annya... while Annya and Theron have a few things to discuss. (KotFE spoilers; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys [female JK])

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More filler fic, working off the events of KotFE, Chapter 13. Posted without beta or extensive editing, straight from my writing journal.

 

Entering the space that served as both her office and her quarters, Annya Emrys gave a long exhale, finally allowing her shoulders to sag. She closed her eyes and focussed on the warm, comforting strands of the Force swirling around her. With a simple wave of her hand, mellow tones of a lone stringed instrument filtered from her workstation, echoing gently off the stone walls.

Drawing in a deep breath, she lowered herself slowly onto the curved couch. Then, focussing on the Force, on the quiet background music, she allowed her head to fall back against the rest. She concentrated on her breathing: In. Out. In. Out. Feel the air as it worked its way deep into the lower lobes of her lungs. As she did so, she could feel the swirl of emotions -- satisfaction, frustration, anger, and sadness among them -- begin to dissipate into the Force around her.

It was then that she could sense the familiar presence of Lana Beniko.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

Her voice wasn’t unkind -- she wasn’t looking for a fight -- but it was firm. Opening her eyes, Annya watched as the former head of Sith Intelligence crossed the metal grating, hovering just to her left. “Given that you were… communing with Valkorion at the time,” she continued, “there was no way you could have run the mission. And if you had, there’s a good chance you might not have come back, either.”

“Logically, I think I know that.” Annya offered the empty seat beside her with a gesture. “But this is my command. Ultimately, it was my call.”

“Logically, it was _my_ call,” Lana replied. The Sith lowered herself onto the sofa next to Annya. “Intelligence always has an expiration date, and we had no way of knowing when you were coming back… if ever. Theron and Jorgan drafted the plan; I made the decision to execute it.”

The Jedi frowned. “And, even coming late to the party, I still sent Kaliyo in.”

“Yes, Annya, but you sent her in to _help_.” Lana gave a slight smirk. “It’s not your fault she’s not exactly a team player.”

“It is and it isn’t. I recruited her, Lana.” Sighing, she shook her head. “We need to find a way to get them used to working with each other so this doesn’t happen again.”

Shifting sideways, Lana crossed her legs and leaned forward. Her elbow found a balance point on her thigh, and her chin came to rest on her fist. “Well, the Proving Ground is operational,” she said. “While we have them here, we should put them -- and some of the others -- through their paces. Make them learn the ins and outs of working together.”

Annya nodded. Development of a joint training ground had begun almost immediately following their arrival on Odessen. She and Lana recognized that, for Imperial and Republic personnel to work effectively together, they had to train together; to learn each other’s tactics, both to anticipate and to apply. They had to learn, too, how to trust one another -- sometimes better than the senior staff did. The new “Proving Ground” was designed to do just that.

“If Jorgan and Kaliyo can come out as some semblance of a team,” she said, a wry grin forming on her lips, “I think we can call it a success.”

An answering grin lit Lana’s features. “Challenge accepted,” she replied. “Though Kaliyo will still think she’s being punished.”

“Good.”

Theron stood just inside the doorway, slipping his datapad back into a cargo pocket. Annya could feel frustration radiating through their bond, as well as grief and guilt over the loss of Havoc Squad. Exhaustion still lurked on the fringes, but was, for the moment, blunted. He looked to her with a flicker of weary affection in gold-hazel eyes before blinking it away, replaced by a more business-oriented expression.

“If she’s going to _act_ like a teenager with anger management issues,” he continued, crossing the room, “we should _treat_ her like one.”

Rounding the opposite side of the central coffee table, he took a seat in the empty space to Annya’s left. She sensed some of his tension dissipate -- and no small amount of amused curiosity from Lana -- as he leaned back and draped an arm over the curved edge of the couch behind her. His fingertips brushed her opposite shoulder. The former SIS operative was getting more comfortable around Lana, it seemed.

“Anger management issues aside,” Lana said, “she remains a valuable asset who serves as a brilliant distraction for Arcann. The psychological affects of her diversions on Zakuul are measurable -- even adhering to our guidelines regarding collateral damage.

“We can’t afford to completely alienate her.”

“No, we can’t.” The Jedi felt a spike of irritation roll through Theron, his muscles tensing as he made to sit forward. She dropped a hand to his thigh. He stilled, though a hint of tension remained in his form. “But we _can_ ensure she knows how to play well with others when the situation calls for it.”

To this, Lana nodded. “I’ll add her to the training rotation, starting tomorrow.”

“Just… make sure she and Jorgan aren’t on the same squad,” Theron interjected. “At least, not immediately.”

“Good idea.” Lana rose with a sigh, looking down to the two still seated. “I’ll leave you to your… rest,” she said. “I’ll get those rosters to you before morning.”

Annya swallowed back her chagrin even as Theron found the blue stripe on his trousers imminently fascinating. “Thanks,” she replied. “Make sure you get some sleep, yourself. We’ve all been running a little short lately.”

The Sith responded with a weary smile. “I will… eventually. Good night.”

A moment of silence followed her out the door, which she closed after herself. As the moment stretched on, she felt the tension in Theron’s frame diminish, his head dropping back onto the top edge of the couch with a sharp exhale. There was a shift in his signature she couldn’t quite identify, and Annya turned to study his profile. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

Grimacing, Theron brought his head back up, chin down as he slowly removed his gloves. “I know,” he replied. “Well, it’s not _entirely_ my fault. I did plan the op with Jorgan.” He sighed. “But it’s an op, right? We all know the risks every time we go out there.”

“Then it’s not your first time losing a team?”

He looked to her. “You know I used to work alone.” There was confession in his tone, his words hinting at what he couldn’t yet bring himself to say. “The ops I planned… risked _my_ safety, _my_ life.” Shaking his head, he intertwined the fingers of his right hand with those of her left.

Annya swallowed back the knot she felt rising in her throat. “The information we had to work with was… limited, at best. Once they got inside the communications tower, no one knew what they’d be facing -- not you, not Lana, not even Senya.”

Reaching up, she placed her hand against his cheek, the stubble bristling against her palm. He finally shifted his attention upward and his distinctive gold-hazel eyes searched hers. Emotions swirled together along their bond, heightened by the skin-to-skin contact. “We can’t plan for every contingency,” she continued quietly. “I didn’t want to lose them -- didn’t expect to, but it wasn’t your fault.”

His gaze softened. “No more than it was yours. Between the Emperor and then _my mother_...” he replied, allowing his sentence to drift as he shook his head. Then it was his turn to swallow. “You… you’re not going to be available for every operation. They should… learn to run them without you.”

Her eyes stung and Annya once again felt the fear, the frustration, and the ache at her core that she knew originated with him. It was the same rush of emotion she’d felt when first Valkorion and then Master Satele had released their hold over her, overwhelmed very shortly by his relief as their bond was restored. The operation -- already in process when she returned -- and the subsequent aftermath kept them far too busy since. It was why he’d resorted to an electronic message, and probably why Lana had beat a hasty retreat: There was a lot to discuss.

“They should -- and will,” she echoed. She paused a beat. “And so should you.”

“Ahn --”

“Theron,” she asserted, speaking gently but firmly, “this bond between us -- I’ve never experienced anything like it before. Being able to communicate everything so clearly, without saying a word? It’s… incredible. But it also leaves you vulnerable in a way that, well, you never thought you would be. Letting fear and anger drive our actions… could lead to a hell much worse than trying to live without one another.”

The former SIS operative shifted, reaching up and taking her hand in his, then kissing the inside of her palm before bringing their hands together on his thigh. “This whole bond thing -- you’re right: I never expected it. Not after being sent from the temple.” His lips thinned and he paused as he sought the right words. “I know the dangers; all those lessons with Master Zho, they prepared me for this. It may just take a little while for me to get used to _using_ them again.”

He raised his eyes to meet hers. “I meant what I said, Annya. Here, Corellia, the Force -- doesn’t matter. I’ll be waiting. But I’m also going to do my best to see you make it home every time.”

“And I, Agent Shan, intend to return the favor.” She allowed the intensity of her promise to mirror his. As the moment faded, an impish smile curled slowly across her lips, the depth of their affection swirling with warmth through her. “Now, are we going to get some _rest_ , or are we going to wait for more business to get in the way?”

Theron slowly leaned forward, the gleam in his eyes beginning to match hers. “Given how busy we’ve been, I’m seriously rethinking our ‘business before pleasure’ policy,” he murmured.

“Brilliant,” Annya replied. “But later. For now, less talking.”

She felt him smirk before his lips fully met hers, his laughter reverberating through their bond. _Aye, Commander_ , he thought at her. And then business became the last thing on their minds.


	8. Clue-by-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana 'ships it. Which is good, because Theron, for all his "success" in the field, can be very clueless when it comes to relationships, especially his own. (Spoilers for KotFE; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK)).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this and the next chapter are where the muses wanted to go following Chapter 12, "Visions in the Dark." Those of you afflicted with this madness might understand when I say Annya & Theron!muse wouldn't let me leave it alone. 
> 
> As always, posted fresh from the writing journal, with minor revision and editing by yours truly.

Theron Shan was seated at the bar, Alderaanian ale warming, mostly forgotten, by his elbow, and attention focussed on his datapad when Lana Beniko eased onto the stool beside him.

“So when are you going to ask her?”

Lowering the datapad, he looked to his Sith counterpart and furrowed his brow. “Ask who to do what?”

“Ask Annya to marry you.” An amused gleam lit Lana’s golden eyes, her lips curving slowly into a wry grin as he squirmed under her scrutiny. He tried to mask his discomfort, and failed miserably. “Your relationship with Commander Emrys,” she continued slowly, “is the biggest secret on base. By which I mean that we all know about it, but pretend not to.”

“How courteous of you.” His expression mirrored hers. He reached for his ale, taking a long sip. “And how is it that everyone knows?”

“Theron.” The impish expression shifted to include a hint of incredulity, her tone sharpening with it and a dash of amusement. “When was the last time you were in _your_ quarters?”

“Just this morning.” Lana arched a brow. “...to change clothes,” he amended. He felt his cheeks burn, free hand coming to rest against the back of his neck. “Has it really been that obvious?”

“More so with Jorgan here. He’s noticed he has a rather absentee roommate.” Her grin slipped decidedly lopsided. “Not that he’s complaining, mind you. As a military man, he’s grateful for the privacy. It’s quite a change of pace for him.”

“I’m so glad I could help,” Theron said, placing his datapad onto the bar with a snort.

Lana, however, continued as though he hadn’t spoken: “And then there’s the Force users.”

The former SIS operative paled. “What _about_ the Force users?”

“Relax, Theron,” the Sith said. She placed a gloved hand over his forearm on the bar. “I told you -- you’re shielding well, and Annya’s never exactly broadcast her emotions, either. It’s nothing that intimate. Well, possibly more -- it’s your Force signatures. They’re intertwined in a way I’ve not seen in a very long time. It’s difficult to miss, if that’s your particular affinity.”

Theron sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more measured, a sure attempt to keep eavesdropping at a minimum. “There’s been a definite _shift_ , and it just seems right,” he said. “I… wanted to ask her after the whole debacle with Valkorion. But with everyone reeling from the loss of Havoc Squad, I didn’t think I should.”

“That was _weeks_ ago, Theron!” Lana gasped. “You haven’t tried again?”

He shook his head. “Between working my informants and the treasury heist, we’ve hardly seen each other. And when we have, we’ve generally just fallen into bed.” The Sith arched an eyebrow, and Theron cleared his throat. “No, not _that_ \-- well, not entirely -- oh, _Hells_.”

Lana laughed, her amusement heightened as his scowl deepened. “I’m sorry,” she said as she tried to quiet her chuckling, “but it’s so… unusual to see you like this. You’re usually so composed.”

“Ahn has a habit of unsettling me, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Oh, I have.”

Again, Theron sighed, though there was amusement creasing the corners of his own eyes now. “I’ll remember that, the next time you and Koth go off on one of your rambles, finishing each other’s sentences,” he teased. “A symptom, you’ll notice, that you share with Annya and me.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the Sith responded. “Wait -- yes, you would.” She shook her head, then brought the conversation back to safer ground: _his_ personal life. “Honestly, Theron. What’s stopping you? You’re not worried she’ll say no.”

The agent grimaced. “Maybe?” He shifted his position on the stool, struggling to get a handle on the jumble of emotions surrounding that big-little question. “I know that Kimble -- ‘Doc’ -- proposed and she turned him down. Wasn’t prepared to face down the Council for him, she said, and, honestly, I believe her.”

“Surely she’s given you some indication --”

“She’s told me things are very different this time around,” he responded, anticipating her question. “And… they are. I can sense that much. But this is a bit of a thing for someone who was essentially raised as a Tython-Jedi.”

“She’s also wearing _green_ , Theron,” Lana pointed out. “I’d say that signifies an appreciable shift in her thinking. That it coincided with your… rekindled acquaintance surely can’t be lost on you.”

Theron shook his head. “It isn’t. Wasn’t. But I wasn’t the only reason for the change.”

“Knowing Annya, I’d dare say you weren’t -- business before pleasure is fairly common for her.” The blonde Sith gave a wry grin. “Yet another thing you two workaholics have in common.

“But,” she continued, “Green Jedi do not have the same ridiculous policy on attachment as their Tythonian cousins. I’d say Annya has made it very clear where she stands on all of this. So, if you still think she’d turn you down, I think you need your implants checked.”

“You’re right.” Picking up his datapad, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, then tossed a couple of credits onto the bar. “I _do_ need my implants checked. But I also need to ask her. It’s time.”

Lana grinned, feeling the anticipation, anxiety, and -- best of all -- _hope_ rippling off of him in waves. “I’ll clear your schedules for tomorrow, run a bit of interference,” she said, “so you can take some time to... discuss matters.” Her lips twitched at his obvious blush. “And Theron?”

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations.”

Chuckling and shaking his head, Theron made his way across the cantina. Lana watched until he disappeared into the market, then slumped against the bar. For someone with a lifetime of operations experience, she thought, the man had no clue how to run his personal life. It really was astounding, frustrating… and a little endearing, she had to admit.

Lana gestured to Theron’s ale as the bartender approached. “I’ll have one of those,” she said. “I think I’m going to need it.”


	9. Modest Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because the timing was finally right. (Spoilers for KotFE; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK)).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this and the previous chapter are where the muses _really_ wanted to go following Chapter 12, "Visions in the Dark." I held them off as long as I could, but those of you afflicted with this madness understand when I say Annya  & Theron!muse wouldn't let me leave it alone.
> 
> This is where things definitely go AU. Until the BioWare/EA writers catch up. If they ever do. ;)
> 
> Posted from the writing journal, with minor revision and editing. The mistakes you see are definitely my own.

The assassin droid didn’t bat an eyelash -- or wouldn’t if he had them -- as Theron entered the commander's quarters and closed the door. The mellow tones of a stringed instrument echoed through the room, quieted only by the rugs, banners, and a few other soft items in what was mostly stone and metal. As expected, he found her seated on her couch, feet propped on the illuminated, low table at the center of the arrangement. What he didn’t expect, however, was for her head to be tilted back against the rest and for her to be sound asleep.

A soft smile played across his features. Removing his gloves, followed by his jacket, he crossed the metal grating, then slowly lowered himself into the seat next to her. A lock of her bright red hair had escaped the elaborate twists she wore, stirring gently with the airflow around the room. He reached up and lightly smoothed it back into the hairline, his finger caressing her cheekbone. Eyelids fluttered and her gaze met his. “Hi,” he said, tones low and deep.

“Hi, yourself,” she replied. Her smile matched his, sleepy but affectionate, before tilting slightly apologetic. She gestured to the datapads piled on the table. “I guess these reports were more dull than I expected.”

Theron glanced at the datapad still on her lap. “Well, SCORPIO isn’t exactly known for her riveting tales,” he responded. “I’ve been known to use her reports as cure for insomnia.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” Annya chuckled, moving the datapad to her far side, and looking back up at him. She then trailed her fingers across the stubble shadowing his jaw. The extended contact amplified their connection and she felt her affection returned. “It was so late, I wasn’t sure I’d see you tonight.”

“From what I’ve been told, Jorgan likes having me as a roommate,” the operative replied. He projected amusement and embarrassment along their link, his lips twisting into a coy grin. “Since he’s been restricted to base, he’s noticed I’m never there.”

At this, the commander laughed. Theron’s grin widened, warmth spreading through his chest at the sound and sense of her happiness. The passing weeks had been hard -- even with the successful heist -- and everyone, especially Annya, had felt the strain. Blue eyes twinkled as she dusted her fingers along his jaw again. “I’ve heard the officers’ barracks are fairly comfortable,” she commented.

“Better than some places I’ve slept,” he replied. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips across hers. “But I much prefer the company here.”

He felt her smile. “What? Don’t want to curl up with a Cathar? With all that fur, I’d think he’d at least be warm.”

“Not my type.” Grin widening, he captured her mouth with his, her fingers slipping to rake through the shorter hair at the base of his neck. “I much prefer stubborn… beautiful… red-headded… Force-wielding… Corellians,” he murmured, punctuating each descriptor with a kiss.

Annya revelled in his warmth against her, heartbeat swelling in her ears. She tilted her head to the side as his lips seared a mark down her neck, pausing to provide extra attention to her pulsepoint. “Maybe we should make it official… open up that billet for someone else.”

Abruptly, Theron stopped, drawing back. “Make it official…?”

“Well,” the commander began, blush adding to the rosy glow already taking bloom on her cheeks, “Jorgan’s not the only one that’s noticed you’re spending your time here.”

“Seems we’re the worst kept secret on base,” he replied with a chuckle.

The Jedi combed her nails through the hair over his ear. “I know we were worried about how it’d be seen,” she said thoughtfully, “but it seems like we’ve not been nearly as discreet as we think we have been.”

A lopsided grin stole across Theron’s lips as he recalled his conversation with Lana. “We’ve tried not to be obvious, and they’ve pretended not to notice,” he said.

“A good summary of the situation.” Annya returned the grin.

“So…” The former SIS operative felt panic suddenly grip him, overwhelming the interest they had shared only moments ago. It was, he thought, now or never. “How _official_ do you want to make this?”

“Well, Lana could take care of the administrative part...” Annya looked up to him, eyes widening as she sensed his intentions. “Theron, are you --?”

Theron nodded. He trailed his finger across her cheek again, opening himself up to her in the Force. The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “I don’t wanna qualify for bachelor quarters,” he rumbled. “Marry me, Ahn.”

For reasons defying her own explanation, Annya's eyes stung with tears, even as hope, sheer joy, and love swirled in the Force between them. And while she knew what her answer was -- had known for some time -- she found her voice had deserted her. “Yes,” she whispered and nodded. “ _Yes_. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Relief spilled out of him, laughter bubbling up between them. It died away slowly, smile still creasing the corners of his eyes as he again brushed back the escaped wisps of hair around her face. After a long moment, she narrowed her eyes. “You weren’t sure I’d say yes.”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t.”

“But you asked anyway.”

“I did.” Theron drew in a deep breath, exhaling as the swirl of emotions between them balanced, at least for the moment. “It took a swift kick from Lana. And she was so convinced you would say yes that she was clearing our schedules for tomorrow. She wanted to make sure we had plenty of time to… _discuss_ our plans.”

"I’ll have to thank her…” Annya gave a wry grin, and he felt her interest spark through their bond. “The day _after_ tomorrow.” 

“That,” he replied, his expression mirroring hers, “sounds like a great plan.”

It was the last coherent speech either managed for some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously titled, "Immodest Proposal." But then I scaled it back a few Scovills at the end, and kept with the fade-to-black so familiar from the game.


	10. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annya Emrys awakens with a start, a spike of fear, adrenaline, and a searing pain in her shoulder that is not her own. There are only a few people remaining in the galaxy who still have a bond strong enough to elicit such a reaction. Her father is one of them. (Minor spoilers for KotFE; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK)).

The spike of adrenaline and searing pain in her shoulder that jarred Annya from a deep sleep were not her own, nor, she knew, did they originate with Theron. She could easily sense his presence as he hurried down the corridor, concern radiating through their bond. When the door parted, he rushed in, HK-55 in tow. Both had weapons drawn, finding her sitting up in bed. “Ahn? You all right?” Theron asked.

Goosebumps rippled across her skin as the cool air of the cave stirred across her bare back. The sudden temperature change shook her from the fog… also reminding her that she had not dressed again after being previously _undressed_ . She nodded even as she tugged the bedcovers farther up her chest. Droid or not, already covered or not, Annya was not fully comfortable sharing her form with anyone other than Theron. “It’s not me,” she replied. “I-I’m fine. Really.” She watched as he and HK holstered their weapons.

“Statement: I am relieved to discover you are safe, Master Jedi,” the metallic-tinged voice of the droid said. It hesitated a moment, looking between the operative and the Jedi, servos humming into the quiet. “Unless you require further assistance, I will resume my watch.”

  
Annya was vaguely aware of a long moment of silence settling over her quarters, finally broken by her companion. “I’ll keep an eye on her,” he said to the droid. “You can resume your post, HK.”

The assassin droid nodded once, accustomed now to accepting commands from the operations chief. “Orders accepted. Feel free to notify me if further services are required.”

“Will do.”

As soon as the door slid closed behind the droid, Annya tossed back the covers and slung her robe over her shoulders, shoving her arms into the sleeves. It was lightweight, but it would offer a slight barrier to the constant chill of the cavern air. Right now, her family was her concern. Few people in the galaxy remained with enough of a connection to elicit such a reaction: Theron; her sister, Adela; her brother, Garrynt; and her father, Hamilton. The bond with her cousin, Fionna, was considerably weaker.

“Ahn?” Theron said quietly. The rest of his question lingered across their bond.

“My father,” she replied to his silent inquiry. “Something’s happened to _Da_.”

The weight of his hand on her shoulder grounded her in the chaos. She could sense him reaching out in the Force, seeking to soothe her anxiety. A gentle warmth radiated from his palm, his fingers, a white light sweeping through them both. Annya took a deep breath, drawing on the offered peace. Her fear dissolved into the Light around them.

“Emotion, yet peace,” she whispered. Reaching up, she placed her hand over his. “Thank you.”

Gratitude radiated between them, overriding the surprise at what he had accomplished. That would be a discussion for another time. Visibly, Theron swallowed, nodding once. His voice was heavy with emotion when he was finally able to speak. “Just… returning the favor. I'm sorry I wasn't still here when you woke. I hadn't intended to be gone long --"

Annya shook her head, effectively cutting him off. He was a workaholic; she knew it, and understood. But any response of that nature was cut short by a holocall alert. She answered it on the second tone, considerably calmer than she had been. “Fionna! What in the Nine Hells is going on?”

The blue form hovering above the console clearly rolled her eyes. “Great to hear from you, too, cuz,” she replied. Her image shuddered as the familiar sounds of laser cannon fire traversed the call. “Uncle Ham’s been shot -- I think he’s fine, but I’m dragging his sorry _shebs_ off Corellia, kicking and screaming.”

“Off Corellia? What --?”

“Let’s just say we come by our rebellious nature _completely_ honestly,” Fionna interrupted. Another shot rocked her ship. “Look, I’ll explain when there’s no one _shooting at me_ ! Be in touch soon.” She cut the connection and the blue light blinked out.

“Kriffing Hells,” Annya muttered.

“I’ll make a call or two back to Corellia and see what I can find out,” her companion said.

“Contact the Coronet City precinct and ask for Captain Deryn Rees. That’s Fionna’s father -- hopefully he’ll have _some_ clue as to what’s going on.”

Dark brows furrowed over gold-hazel eyes. “Wait -- Fionna’s _dad_ is CorSec?”

A wry smile twitched across her lips. She could feel the smile crinkling the corners of her eyes even as she looked up at him. “You’re not the only one with parental issues,” she remarked.

Along their link, she could feel him nearly sigh in relief at the snarky comment. She would be fine… and was regaining her equilibrium. “Apparently not.” He offered an answering smirk. “I’ll round up what I can and meet you back here in twenty. You should probably --”

“Find some clothes and then find a place for them to hide.” Annya nodded. “I’ve already got a pretty good idea where to put them...”


	11. Side-Seat Pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annya and Theron are a touch nervous, prior to the arrival of her father, Hamilton, and her cousin, Fionna. (Minor spoilers for KotFE; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK)).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Falls after Chapter 13, "Profit and Plunder," but before Chapter 14, "Mandalore's Revenge."
> 
> As always, posted without beta, and only a couple of editing passes by yours, truly.

Annya stood at the end of the catwalk, surveying the area. Her ship, the _Defender_ -class corvette she had dubbed The _Guardant_ , had been moved, leaving the usual landing area open for use. Gentle evening breezes rippled through the remaining trees and grasses on the plain, swirling in eddies nearest the cliff face. To her right, where seepage from the rocks had created natural ponds, the local insects and reptiles were beginning their warmup for the night’s performance.

She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It was the last moment of peace she would have for some time, she thought, and it was best to enjoy it.

“We’re all set,” came the low, rumbling tones of her companion -- fiancé -- Theron Shan. He spoke quietly, and she could sense his reluctance to interrupt her moment. “Tora landed Guardant safe and sound at her secondary site, and Lana’s worked out the billets.” He paused a beat, stepping to stand beside her. His hand came to rest atop hers on the railing. “Ready for this?”

Annya gave him a rueful smile. “No,” she replied, “but he’ll be safer here, at least in the short term. Long term....” She shrugged a shoulder.

“We’ll worry about the long term when we get there.” Theron gave a lopsided grin. The Jedi could sense his own dark amusement, liberally intertwined with his own discomfort. It wasn’t everyday, after all, one met their future father-in-law for the first time -- especially one that hadn’t an inkling his daughter was romantically involved with _anyone_.

Turning, Annya placed her hand over his, mischief glinting in her eyes. “The unflappable Theron Shan completely… flapped.”

He sighed, shaking his head. The corners of his eyes creased slightly as he looked back up at her. Beneath his smile, however, the intensity of his affection and commitment humbled her. It was certainly more than she ever imagined developing between them, all those years before. “You do realize you’re just about the only person who can manage that, right?” he asked.

Annya brought one hand to rest flat against his chest, the other still in his. She nodded. “I try to use my power responsibly,” she answered. Catching movement in the corner of her eye, she looked up, finding a row of Alliance personnel perched in the hangar opening. As they noticed her attention, they obviously made to look up at the sky, as though on lookout for the incoming vessel.

Theron glanced backward, noting the movement. He chuckled as he turned his attention back to his fiancée. “Remember what I said about the worst kept secret on base?”

“Mm-hm,” the Jedi replied, nodding. Her widening grin mirrored his as he lowered his head. “They’ll pretend not to notice.”

“Good,” he muttered. “Might be a while before I get the chance to do this again.”

Closing the remaining distance, their grins melted as their lips met. The warmth of contact prompted a flood of memories, inseparable from the emotions they evoked: Scattered garments across the grated floor; quiet whispers and gentle caresses in the darkened room; the sharp contrasts of cool air across warm bodies in synchronized motion. Passion, laced with affection, friendship; awe, amazement, discovery; the sincerity of commitment and companionship that now underlay all their interactions. It was only the catcalls and shouts of encouragement from the hangar entrance that drew them back to reality.

Theron rested his forehead against hers. A long moment passed in shared silence as they brought their focus back to the present. He gave a rueful smile as he looked down at her. “I think they decided to stop pretending.”

Annya chuckled. “Well, it is the first time we’ve shown… interest… with an audience.”

“We’re never going to live that down, you know.”

“I know.” The rumble of starship engines brought her attention to the sky, and the two stepped apart. She kept her grip on his hand for a moment longer, however, giving it a squeeze before finally releasing it. All manner of silent communication flowed between them as the familiar _XS_ -class light freighter maneuvered in for a landing.

She then felt the shift as Theron reinforced his shielding, an action she echoed. It made sense, of course -- with her father being Force-sensitive and sharing a connection with her, there was no way to know what else he would be able to sense. And, until the two could break the news of their relationship and engagement, it was clear they were both opting for caution.

The docking clamps locked with a hiss, compressed air venting into the air as visible clouds, even as the engines powered down. Aboard the ship, Annya knew her cousin and father would be completing landing procedures. The wait, however, felt interminable. Fionna said Hamilton boarded under his own power and she had been able to stabilize his wounds. That had been two days ago. How badly had he been injured? Was he still conscious and acting as co-pilot?

Even as the thought occurred, she gave a snort. Her father was one of the worst side-seat pilots ever birthed. It was more likely, she mused, that Fionna sedated him so she could pilot without his second-guessing and grousing.

After a long few moments, the ramp of the freighter lowered, slowly revealing two sets of boots, one male, and one female. It was Fionna who led the way, bright red hair a sharp contrast to her green and grey clothing -- colors of choice since her days in Corellian Security. She passed her cousin an expression that spoke volumes.

Behind Fionna was Annya’s father, Hamilton Emrys. Broad-shouldered and capped with silver hair, his jawline shadowed by equally silver whiskers, he was as imposing as she remembered. The dark brown leather jacket he favored was draped over his shoulders, his right arm clearly wrapped to his chest, immobilizing the joint. His skin looked slightly pale, exhaustion in his familiar blue eyes, but seemed alert and functional. He smiled at the sight of his daughter.

Annya met them at the base of the ramp, entirely aware of Theron behind her. She resisted the urge to reach for him physically, instead reaching for him in the Force. “Glad you both made it in one piece,” she said.

“Near thing,” Fionna replied. She grimaced. “Turns out Uncle Ham has made some really _interesting_ friends.”

Hamilton Emrys gave a snort, shaking his head at his niece. “Interesting friends are part of getting the job done,” he replied. “These were no friends of mine.”

Her lips thinning, Annya bit back her questions. There would be time to debrief him later, after her father was seen by one of the medics, and after Fionna had been able to share her side of the story. “Friends or no,” she said aloud, “I’m just glad you both made it out.” She stepped aside, gesturing to Theron. “ _Da_ , Fee -- I’d like you to meet our director of operations, Theron Shan. Theron -- my father, Hamilton Emrys, and my cousin, Fionna.”

Theron shook hands with both. “Nice to finally meet you,” he said. “Ahn..ya’s told me a lot about you.”

The Jedi pointedly ignored the knowing grin that flickered across her cousin’s features. She couldn’t, however, ignore the question her father apparently had to ask: “Shan? Any relation to the Grandmaster?”

Amusement and irritation flowed between the two as they exchanged a glance, recalling a similar conversation, years prior. “We really should look into that whole ‘codename’ thing,” he said. “I mean, now that I’m not with SIS…”

“From what I understand, Tora and the rest of the _Gravestone_ crew have taken to calling you ‘Old Man Shan,’” Annya replied with a wry smile. “I suppose we could make that work.”

The former SIS operative cut her a glare that was equal parts frustration and smoulder. Annya felt a flutter wash through her, recognizing the look. Further discussion, she decided, was not meant for public consumption. Swallowing, she returned her attention back to their visitors. “ _Da_ , I’ll take you over to see the doc, and get you settled into your quarters.” She looked to Theron. “If you’ll escort Fee to my office and start the debrief?”

“You got it.” He gestured toward the catwalk. She didn’t need their bond to sense his relief. “If you’ll come with me, Captain?”

“Lay on, _Old Man_ ,” Fionna replied and Theron, for his part, only grimaced. As she stepped past her elder cousin, the redheaded smuggler winked, falling into step beside the operative. As she watched them depart, Annya had a sneaking suspicion that their debrief was about to become a two-way street.

Turning, the Jedi found her father watching after the two with a puzzled expression. “What is it?” she asked.

The crease still in his brow, Hamilton regarded her, hand coming to rest against his hip. “He never did answer my question.”

Annya couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s good at that.” She nodded in the general direction of the hangar. “C’mon, _Da_. Let’s get you properly patched up.”

“Lead the way, then,” he replied. He smiled. “This is _your_ turf, after all.”

Leading the way across the bridge, Annya struggled to dissipate the unease that crept over her. She couldn’t help hoping that his side-seat piloting didn’t include second-guessing a war, too.


	12. Jab, Parry, Riposte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they discuss recent events on Corellia, Fionna uses her own interrogation techniques to poke former SIS operative Theron Shan with a stick, mainly just to see what happens. (Spoilers for KotFE; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK)).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on "Side-Seat Pilot," falling between Chapter 13, "Profit and Plunder" and Chapter 14, "Mandalore's Revenge."
> 
> Posted without beta and with minimal editing.

Fionna followed Theron through the military hangar and into the corridor that tied it back to what was obviously the nerve center of the Odessen base. She noted with interest the various groups of personnel working and milling about -- Jedi and Sith; Imperial and Republic; smugglers, bounty hunters, and other mercenaries. Most seemed cheerful -- or as cheerful as some of them got -- their conversations creating a strangely restful background hum. No blaster fire; no growling sabers. She was impressed.

Rounding the final corner into what had to be ‘the commander’s office,’ Fee had to admit she was impressed there, too: Fairly open space with high, cavernous ceilings; a worn, but comfortable-looking pair of couches, arranged around a couple of caf tables; decent lighting; two droids hovering nearby; and a fairly cozy bed in the far corner. “Not too shabby,” she said, moving further into the room.

The dark-haired agent nodded. He threaded between the low table and a couch, rounding to a crate that had been pressed into service as a table. A vacuum bottle of what she guessed was caf, and a few cups rested there, on a tray. “Rank has to come with a few perqs,” he commented. She watched as he poured a couple of cups of the black, steamy brew. “Given that it’s pretty thankless most of the time.”

Fionna took the cup he offered. The caf was as strong as it looked -- just the way she liked it. “The burdens of command. Got my own problems, captaining a freighter; can’t imagine running something this… diverse.” She shook her head. “Don’t envy my fave cousin at all.”

“Favorite cousin, hm?” Theron gestured to the couch and, by silent agreement, the two moved to take seats on the cushioned surface. “She mentioned that you two had been pretty close.”

“We were,” she answered, nodding. “Back when we were kids, before mom was killed. Going to Tython kinda isolated her; didn’t see her so much after, what with that whole ‘no attachments’ thing.”

A grimace flickered across his features, the furrow in his brow more obvious with the shift of his implants over his left eye. “Yeah. Not one of my favorite concepts.”

Fee watched him over the rim of her cup as she took a sip, contemplating her response. He was a bit more relaxed now, she noted, one foot propped on the caf table, tension released from his shoulders. She decided it was time to poke the defenses a bit. “Probably puts a damper on the family reunion,” she said.

Theron cut her a sideways glare, eyes expressing an irritated amusement. The smuggler chalked it up as a win. “You’re Ahn’s cousin, all right,” he muttered. “But then, as she pointed out, I’m not the only one with parental issues.”

“Game, set, and match,” Fionna replied. She gave a lopsided grin, finding that beginning to like the Alliance operative. She suspected, however, that her cousin more than just liked him. _That_ theory she would test later. “Speaking of parental issues,” she continued aloud, “I’m guessing you want to hear what happened with Uncle Ham.”

He nodded. “Ahn seemed to think it might be best to have two perspectives, just in case her father left something out.”

Fee snorted. “He wouldn’t leave anything out, he’d just… choose his words very carefully.”

“So… what _did_ happen?”

“You probably know he’s been working with the Corellian resistance -- supporting the remaining Green Jedi, causing some trouble in the Imperial sectors in Coronet City,” the smuggler replied and Theron nodded. “Well, with Cousin Ahn’s influence, he’s shifted his focus: He’s started looking at the former Chancellor and her puppets. Turns out he had a contact, had some information on a dirty deal between Saresh and some pretty unsavory types -- the types Hutts normally deal with, not so-called ‘honest’ politicians.”

“And he called you to go to the meet with him?”

“Exactly.” Fionna sipped her caf as she recalled the events. “Things felt a little… off… from the start. But, I don’t have Ahn’s gift, so I just kinda let it slide. Next thing I know, there’s an explosion and blaster fire, and more chaos than a Nar Shaddaa cantina brawl.

“Our contact was dead; Uncle Ham took a blaster bolt to the shoulder. I squeezed off a few rounds, and then decided it was time to go,” she continued. “Didn’t think they’d have their own ship in orbit, and some decent long range comms equipment.”

Theron pursed his lips as he considered the information. “You think it was a set up?”

“Dunno.” Fee shrugged a shoulder. “Coulda been. He’s still considered a ‘respectable’ businessman in most quarters; his turning against the current administration could cause a pretty big ripple. On the other hand, they coulda intercepted the transmissions and set an ambush.”

“Or they could just be targeting him because he’s Ahn’s father.”

“Anything’s possible. But, since I can’t exactly go back and pull the forensics…”

A grin flickered across the agent’s features and he cleared his throat. “Your, ah, _dad_ is working on that.”

“Of _course_ he is.” Fionna sighed. “Well, at least it’s someone we can trust. He say when was gonna have the preliminary report?”

“Sometime today,” Shan answered, “though he said something about going through a few different channels to make sure there wasn’t a cover job going on.”

Fionna nodded. “Makes sense.” She paused a beat. “He’s a good cop. Then again, so was I.”

“Maybe one day, when all this is over, you can be again.”

The smuggler waved off the idea. “Nah. That ship’s taken flight,” she said. “Some of the guys see me as a turncoat and I guess I kinda am. Got my limits, and I’ve avoided warrants thus far, but I do run a few less-than-legit shipments now and again.”

“Less-than-legit, hm?” Theron shook his head. “Steal from the rich; give to the poor?”

“More like steal from the Imps or the Hutts; give to Corellia or the Republic...minus a little to cover operating costs,” she replied.

“You could… run a few shipments for the Alliance. We can always use a few good pilots. And smugglers.”

Fionna regarded the operative with eyes narrowed in appraisal. Reaching out with her limited Force talent, she sensed nothing from him -- not even a Force signature, a sure sign he was shielding. “Could probably be arranged,” she replied. “Might even give a family discount, what with Ahn being commander and all.”

“Well, I’m guessing you’ll have a few days to think it over,” Theron replied. “I’ll introduce you to our logistics officer, and you two can have a chat.”

“Hey, if it means having a cool room in a super-secret, hidden base? I’m good with that.” She hid her grin behind her cup. “The draft down here has _gotta_ make for good sleeping weather.”

“Support personnel are berthed upstairs.” The agent smirked. “Nice try, though.”

Her grin widened. Yeah, she liked him and, if she were less honorable, she might even make a play. But, if his current comfort level and non-answer were any indication, the dark-haired spy-boy was _definitely_ off limits. She loved her cousin, after all. Besides, she thought, it was going to be _much_ more entertaining to watch them sidestepping her uncle for the duration of their stay.


	13. Not Far from the Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His daughter, Hamilton Emrys thought, had emerged from carbonite very different -- stronger, more outspoken, more determined. She had also become more cautious, more introspective, and more wary in her interactions; she kept him and the rest of her family at a distance. She would have to realize that, whether she liked it or not, they were along for the ride. (Spoilers for KotFE; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK)).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows from "Side-Seat Pilot" and "Jab, Parry, Riposte." 
> 
> As usual, posted hot off the press, with little revision or editing.

Hamilton Emrys sat at the foot of a treatment bed, an Alliance medical droid poking insistently at his shoulder. “Will ya stop that?” he growled. “I’d like to be able to move it again some day.”

“My apologies for the discomfort, sir,” came the clipped response, voice tinged with metallic reverberation. “I am merely assessing the effects of your stay in the kolto tank.”

The elder Emrys ran his free hand through his still-damp hair, ensuring some splattered on the droid. “Damn sight better than it was,” he said, “but not back to where it needs to be.”

“Your record will reflect more precise measurements of your progress,” the droid responded. It might have been offended. Hamilton didn’t much care so long as the blasted thing stopped poking his arm.

Looking up, he spotted his daughter in the doorway, pausing to speak to a passing Force user. Clad in very dark grey, Emrys guessed she was probably Sith. His theory was confirmed when the gray-clad form turned, revealing golden yellow eyes that practically glowed. A chill washed over him. Definitely Sith, he thought.

From previous discussions with Annya, he knew the Alliance drew from all sides -- Imperial and Republic; smuggler and mercenary; Jedi and Sith. Still, it was rare for him to see a Sith not actually trying to kill him, his family, or his friends. It was a concept to which he was still adjusting.

His attention was drawn, however, to the body language between them. No tension in their shoulders, no guarded movements, no wary glances. The best description he could think of to describe their interaction was “relaxed.” It bypassed straight to “friendly” a few seconds later as the Sith gave a lopsided grin, glowing eyes glinting with mischief. Annya covered her own eyes and blushed, shaking her head. The blonde laughed.

Hamilton continued watching for a moment longer as the conversation drew to a close. The two obviously bid each other farewell, and parted company. Annya then made her way to the medbay, pausing beside him.

She looked to the droid, then to him. “How’s the patient?”

“I’ll be a lot better when these damned droids stop _poking_ me,” the elder Emrys responded. The droid then found a particularly tender portion of soft tissue. “Ow!”

Annya shook her head, shifting to get a glimpse of the injured shoulder. His brief stay in the kolto tank had reduced the inflammation and the skin had begun to regenerate, the new tissue smooth and pink where the blaster burns had once been. It would, he knew remain tender for several days to a week, even after the kolto.

“You’ve been shot worse on milk runs, _Da_ ,” she commented.

He scowled at her. The medical droid moved away. “Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.” Deciding a change of topic was in order, he nodded toward the door, where she had been standing only a moment before. “Who was your friend?”

Annya furrowed her brow and Hamilton noted -- not for the first time -- that their usual connection was muted; he could not sense whether or not she was genuinely confused. “Friend?”

“The blonde -- the Sith.”

“Ah. That was Lana Beniko,” she explained. “She’s chief administrator for all of this -- though she contributes heavily to our operational planning as well.”

“Your XO, then?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Anna replied with a nod. “Though she and Theron seem to divide the duties between them.” She paused a beat. “In this case, she’s been overseeing some billeting changes for our senior staff. She’s managed a bit of wrangling and found you a bunk for a few days.”

Hamilton sighed. Injured or not, Corellia was his home. His son and his company were still there. And he wasn’t about to be cowed simply because he was doing what he felt was right. “Ahn --”

The Jedi held up a hand to forestall his argument. “It’s just for a few days, _Da_ ,” she repeated, emphasizing each syllable. “At least until the doc signs off on the arm. After that -- we’ll talk.”

“Ger’s still back there, Ahn.”

She nodded. “I know. And I’m calling in a few favors to make sure he’s safe. But he _is_ your son -- he can hold his own. You know as well as I do he’d _kill_ me if he knew I had babysitters on him.”

At this, Hamilton had to chuckle. Even with their link shielded, his daughter knew him -- and her brother -- very well. “That he would.” He shook his head. “All right. So where does Ms. Beniko have me sleeping?”

Annya nodded toward the door. “C’mon,” she said. “I’ll show you to your room.”

***

“...and this is where you’ll be bunking out.”

Pausing before one of many sliding alloy doors along the curved hallway, she inserted what looked like an elongated datacard into a slot beside it. An illuminated button -- the doorbell, Hamilton guessed -- shone below the slot. Above it, in digital blue, the name of the previous occupant still glowed in Aurabesh: T. Shan.

The elder Emrys blinked, even as Annya withdrew the keycard and extended it toward him. “I didn’t mean to put the Old Man out of his quarters,” he commented.

“You didn’t,” she replied. She cleared her throat as she stepped into the room. “Lana just reassigned his billet. This one is empty for the moment.”

Hamilton followed her in. The room was small, but efficient, with a double bed centered against the back wall, a small nightstand to one side. At the foot of the bed, a side table, chair, and lamp offered a modest seating area for reading or working. To his right, an open passage revealed two wash basins and another door beyond that.

It wasn’t their Coruscant apartment, he thought, but it wasn’t roughing it on Taris, either. “Not bad. Officers quarters?”

Annya nodded. “Major Jorgan, formerly with Republic Special Forces, is your neighbor, right through that door,” she said, gesturing to the one beyond the wash basins. “You’ll actually be sharing a head, so don’t be surprised when you hear someone moving around.” She then waved a hand back toward the doorway. “Lana is across the hall. One of our other senior conspirators, Koth Vortena, is a few doors down.”

“You’re not up here?”

To this, she shook her head. “My quarters -- and my office -- are down in the bunker.” A moment of silence fell between them, and Hamilton could feel her blue eyes narrow on him in appraisal. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Hamilton grimaced. “Don’t you think you have enough on your plate without worrying about me?”

“ _Da_ ,” Annya began, echoing his expression, “you, Garrynt, Fionna, even Adela -- you’re the reason I’m doing this. Arcann and his empire threaten everything that we hold close, from our business to our way of life. Once Arcann and his empire is gone, I’m hoping that we can find a peace again. I think you and I both know someone else who is a threat to that idea.”

“I think we do.” Sighing, Hamilton crossed and dropped onto the foot of the bed. “One of our pilots -- you might remember her, Lia Madine -- came across a conversation in her travels, overheard something in a cantina about what happened to the Chancellor’s opponent in the Senate.

“It’s been fairly hushed-up, but we’d been hearing rumours that the leader of the opposition suffered a stroke or some sort of collapse,” he continued, “what Lia overheard seemed to confirm it… and that it might have been triggered by outside influences. But with the Senate in recess for the moment, security around him has been tight. When she told me what she’d heard, I called in a few favors. Turns out that one of the leader’s security guys owes me a favor. He passed some information to a courier. Fee and I were supposed to meet the courier. We were ambushed instead.”

Annya folded her arms across her chest as her brow creased in thought. “So you think his collapse could be the result of something the Chancellor or his associates might have pulled?”

“The Chancellor… or his predecessor,” Hamilton answered. “I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s been vicious when it comes to consolidating power for herself and her pet… and ensuring that the war with the Imperials continues.” He shook his head. “Given all I’ve -- all _we’ve_ lost to the Empire, I’m not inclined to cut them any slack… but I _do_ recognize when we need to shift our focus.”

His head bowed, the elder Emrys closed his eyes, drawing on his meager Force skills to soothe the growing frustration and encroaching fatigue. After a moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder, sensed a new strength reinforcing his efforts. He opened his eyes and looked up, finding Annya standing beside him. Her emotions, previously closed off, were a jumble across their link -- sadness and frustration balanced with odd spikes of excitement and hope. As she withdrew, he sensed another whisper along her signature, a bond she clearly hadn’t closed off as she had with him. She did not, however, give him the opportunity to discover more, much less ask any questions.

“I’ll leave you to get some rest, and we can meet for dinner in the cantina,” Annya said. “I’m sure some of my team will want to talk to you about this.” She was already halfway across the room when she turned. “I… don’t want to fight the Republic, but we need a Republic to come back to, some semblance of… _normal_. Otherwise, this fight against Arcann is pointless.”

Hamilton shook his head, attention directed to the toes of his boots. “Ahn, the Republic you knew, loved, and supported -- it’s gone. Long gone.” He looked up at her. “But it -- or something like it -- can come from all this. Once we remember where we all came from, what we’ve lost in the process.”

“I hope you’re right, _Da_ ,” she replied quietly. A rueful smile twitched across her lips. “I’ll see you at dinner. Get some rest.”

The door slid closed behind her and Hamilton sat for a very long moment, eyes fixed on the panel. His daughter, he thought, had emerged from carbonite very different -- stronger, more outspoken, more determined. Alternatively, she had also become more cautious, more introspective, and more wary in her interactions; she kept him and the rest of her family at a distance. He suspected that she sought to protect them -- from targeting or from the possibility of losing her again, he wasn’t sure. Sooner or later, he thought, she would have to realize that, whether or not she liked it, they were along for the ride.

The muja fruit never fell far from the tree, after all.


	14. Behind the Curtain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite his Force sensitivity, Hamilton begins to see that he’s missing… something. (Spoilers for KotFE; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on “Not Far from the Tree.” 
> 
> As usual, posted hot off the press, with little revision or editing.

It was the blonde Sith he met first that evening, emerging from her quarters as he stepped into the passageway. She offered him a smile. “Ah, Captain Emrys,” she said. He found her formal accent strangely soothing, her presence warmer than he expected from a Sith. “How are you feeling?”

Hamilton rotated his arm in the socket, wincing only slightly. “Not bad, all things considered,” he replied. “But more time marinating in kolto, and I should be back to my old self.”

“A relief, I’m sure,” the Sith replied. “You’re headed to the cantina to join us?”

“Think that was the plan,” he replied. “Ahn mentioned meeting up for dinner -- thought I’d get a little recon in beforehand.”

“I can accompany you, if you’d like,” Lana said. “Finding your way  _ can _ be a touch intimidating at first.”

At this, the elder Emrys chuckled. “Assuming you were paying attention the first time,” he said. “I was a bit distracted when Ahn brought me up here.”

The smile returned, accomplished by a chuckle. “Well, Annya would never forgive me if I left you to get lost.” She gestured to her right and the two fell into step.

Hamilton shrugged a shoulder. “I’m sure someone would point me in the right direction eventually. Especially if I wandered somewhere I’m not supposed to be.”

“I dare say they would,” Lana responded. “Though there are few areas like that, here.”

“Unusual.”

They rounded a corner, cutting down a short corridor that soon put them along another curved passageway. “Necessary,” she said. “Limited personnel and limited space means dual-duty -- for the people  _ and _ the available work areas. Senior staff have even been known to meet in the commander’s quarters, making use of the space we have.”

He gave a snort. “Hope they’re bigger than that,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Hardly room for two, much less a whole -- what? Six? -- of you, even if there are two droids.”

“Stacked like firewood is the expression that comes to mind.” A wry grin twitched at the Sith’s lips as they approached the lift. “Perhaps why these are considered the bachelor quarters.”

Hamilton watched as she called for the lift. Memories of his earlier conversation with Annya stirred in his mind. “Then ‘Old Man Shan’ is no longer a bachelor?”

The lift began its descent and Lana regarded him, a hint of impish amusement in her golden eyes. “‘Old Man Shan’ hasn’t truly been a bachelor for quite a while,” she replied. “It simply took a need for space for him to finally give up the charade.”

“Charade?”

“It’s… a long story,” Lana said. “One I’m sure you’ll hear before you head back to Corellia.”

Any further comment was lost as they rounded the corner into the makeshift marketplace. The murmur of voices echoed through the cavern, along with the low hum of circulation fans and other machinery. From there, Hamilton found it was a very short turn down a small staircase and into the cantina.

He blinked, marvelling at the size -- of both the room and the still. A large bar held center focus, illuminated surface casting an upward glow. Across from it, musicians fine-tuned their equipment on a medium-sized stage. Smaller, more intimate rooms branched off in most directions, with a mix of cozy booths and tables with stools scattered throughout.

It was at the bar that Hamilton spotted the now-familiar red jacket of Theron Shan. he then noted his niece, Fionna, standing nearby, nursing a drink. Across the familiar bond he shared with Fionna, he sensed a growing respect for the operations director, mixed with no small amount of impish amusement. Well, at least she’s found a friend, he thought.

“No datapad tonight?” the Sith inquired of Shan as she and the elder Emrys approached.

“Not tonight,” Shan replied.His lips twitched, gold-hazel eyes offering her a silent admonition. “I’m already feeling the weight of the galaxy  _ without _ the latest asset reports.” He looked to Hamilton. “Ahn said you were doing better. You certainly look it.”

The way in which Annya’s nickname -- “Ahn” -- rolled off the operative’s tongue caught his attention. His attempts to sense him out, however, were fruitless: Theron Shan was all but a hole in the Force.

Hamilton nodded. “A lot better after those blasted med droids stopped  _ poking  _ at me.” Looking up, he found Fionna watching him as she dug into a nearby bowl for a handful of roasted seeds. “What?”

The smuggler shook her head. “Just enjoying the show.”

At this, Hamilton could only furrow his brow. Her amusement was fairly clear, even without a Force bond to fall back on. Shaking his head, he looked back to the former SIS operative. “Getting some rest other than in a kolto tank helped, too,” he said. “I understand --”

Theron gave a lopsided grin and Hamilton cut himself short. A glance over his own shoulder revealed his daughter approaching from behind. “Well look who it is,” the spy said. “Glad you could finally make it.”

Annya returned the grin, shaking her head. “Remind me to stop asking Dr. Ogurobb about his latest ideas. His explanations get progressively more detailed as he gathers steam.”

“I’ll try to remind you.” The grin widened. Hamilton seemed to sense a silent conversation between the two though once again, he found his connection to his daughter muted and gated.

“Did you finally get some rest,  _ Da _ ?” she asked.

“Enough for now,” the elder Emrys replied. He nodded, indicating Lana. “Ms. Beniko was kind enough to help an old man navigate the maze.”

Annya chuckled, shaking her head. It was, Hamilton thought, good to see she still had a sense of humour. “That’s right -- you two haven’t  _ officially  _ met. Lana, my father, Hamilton Emrys.  _ Da _ \-- our director of administration, Lana Beniko.”

“Nice to  _ officially _ meet you, Captain,” Lana replied. She offered a smile. “I only wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Same,” Hamilton said. He was surprised to discover it was mostly true -- something he never thought he’d say about a Sith -- or any Imperia. A loud rumble from his stomach cut off anything else he might have added, however. He offered a rueful grin as the others around him laughed. 

His daughter regarded him with a smile. “Maybe we should see about that dinner now,” she said, nodding to indicate one of the rooms to the side. “Come on,  _ Da _ ; let’s get you fed.”

Allowing her to take the lead, Hamilton watched as Theron filed in behind her, followed by Fionna. The smuggler still wore a smirk, as though privy to a secret joke. It was unsettling, to say the least. He paused, and Lana raised her brow at him. “Everything alright, Captain?”

The elder Emrys blinked, looking up at Lana. He grimaced. “I get the feeling I’m missing something.”

Lana pursed her lips, turning. He followed her gaze to the side room, where first Fionna, then Annya, slid into the curved booth; Theron took his place on the open end by Annya. The two stood watching as his arm came to rest along the edge of the cushions behind her in a movement that was relaxed, natural. The Sith then he regarded him with slight amusement in golden eyes, a ripple of sympathy emanating from her. “If it’s any consolation, Captain, I suspect things will be made abundantly clear very soon.” She reached out and hooked her arm around his. “In the meantime, let’s simply… enjoy the company.”

Hamilton simply nodded once, falling into step as they made their way into the side room. Once there, she slipped into the booth next to Fionna, and he dragged over a nearby stool. Settling heavily onto the round surface, he looked to his daughter with a grin. “Now… what does one have to do to get a good whiskey around here?”


	15. No Half Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fionna makes a few late night observations from the smuggler’s den. (Spoilers for KotFE; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK)).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on “Not Far from the Tree,” taking place between chapter 13, “Profit and Plunder,” and chapter 14, “Mandalore’s Revenge.”
> 
> Posted without beta and with minimal editing.

Fionna Emrys stretched and yawned, sleepy eyes taking in the scene around her. The “logistics wing” of the Odessen headquarters doubled as a smuggler’s den with little equal: Plenty of ammo, plenty of cushy seats, and plenty of alcohol. That it was overseen by a smuggler of such regard as Hylo Visz only added to the underworld charm. 

It was growing late, however, and the crowd of usual suspects was beginning to thin. A few pilots remained at tables while one or two members of the  _ Gravestone _ crew lingered nearby; others had retreated to their quarters or their ships for the night. If Fee didn’t shift it soon, she thought, she might fall asleep in place, herself. Pushing herself to her feet, she began making her way through the cavernous room.

Movement ahead of her caught her attention, however, and she looked up. The familiar red leather of Theron Shan’s jacket stood out against the gray stone, as did her cousin’s green attire. They made their way slowly down the corridor, facial expressions shifting as though the two were having a conversation.

She watched as they paused outside the commander’s quarters, and Annya gave him a wicked grin. It was met by one of Theron’s own. The Jedi turned slightly. Her hand dropped to the large buckle at his waist, fingers curling slightly over the top of the metal. Their grins grew as she backed toward her quarters, tugging the former SIS operative along.

“Good night, Masters,” came the proper, metallic tones of HK-55 the attack droid.

“Night, HK,” they said in unison. A second later, the door hissed shut behind them. The droid remained in place.

That was a bit… surreal, she thought. Her cousin, the Jedi, tugging a man -- a handsome, snarky mystery man -- into her quarters by his oversized belt buckle… after clearly having a silent conversation the whole way down the corridor. 

Fionna blinked. Bonded. The two had forged some sort of Force-bond -- one they clearly shielded from her, Uncle Hamilton, and others. And, while she suspected an affair between the two, she hadn’t expected… that.  _ That  _ was some deep, mystical Force  _ poodoo _ her mother had shared with her father. The relationship, then, was more than a simple affair… with the likely son of Grandmaster Satele Shan.

The smuggler shook her head. She’d never known her cousin to do anything by halves, even as a child. Tomorrow, she thought, was going to be very, very interesting.


	16. Clarification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As well-experienced an operative as Theron Shan was, there was no disguising the flicker of sheer panic across his features and in his eyes as he turned and spotted Hamilton Emrys on the threshold. (Spoilers for KotFE; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on “Not Far from the Tree.” 
> 
> As usual, posted hot off the press, with little revision or editing.

Hamilton Emrys made his way across the durasteel grating of the war room, the metal clattering lightly with each step. He followed the instructions obtained from the barkeep, continuing around the corner and down the corridor, nodding a greeting to the personnel now milling along the way. The commander’s quarters were easy enough to spot: The only closed door with an armed assassin droid standing guard. He would, it seemed, have to approach with caution.

The HK unit regarded him with open curiosity as he drew closer. “Meatbag identified as Hamilton Emrys, father to Commander Emrys,” it said.

Emrys nodded. “Correct -- HK, is it?”

“Affirmative,” the droid responded. “I am currently ordered to inform you that Commander Emrys is currently in a brief with Agent Shan and will be available to converse soon. She suggested you might wish to obtain sustenance in the cantina.”

The smuggler pursed his lips. “I _could_ use a cup of caf,” he replied. His further response was lost as the door slid open. Agent Shan stood just inside the doorway, latching his holster rig at his waist as, beyond him, Annya was visibly slipping a pin into the swirled mass of red hair on the left side of her head. Shan’s attention was directed to her, over his shoulder. “I’ll go grab our caf and then we can get started on these reports.” His voice was deep and craggy, as though he had not been awake long, and his hair still damp from a shower.

“Fine, workaholic,” came the response. Hamilton could hear the smile in her tone.

As well-experienced an operative as Theron Shan was, there was no disguising the flicker of sheer panic across his features and in his eyes as he turned and spotted the elder Emrys on the threshold. He quickly cleared his throat, attempting to regain composure. “Captain Emrys,” he managed.

Hamilton regarded the younger man with an arched brow -- one he shared with his daughter as her attention was drawn to the conversation. “Agent Shan,” he replied. His gaze drifted over the room, taking in the furnishings and noting the single bed in the room. That, combined with the comments made since his arrival, as well as the undercurrents during dinner the previous night, confirmed what he had begun to suspect: His daughter was involved with the former SIS operative. “I can see why you’d want to move. Quite a bit more space in here.”

Theron scowled and opened his mouth to speak, but it was Annya who beat him to it. “Enough, _Da_ ,” she said sharply. “Come in and we’ll discuss this -- privately and calmly.”

Drawing himself to his full height, Hamilton narrowed his eyes at the two. The shielding around their Force signatures remained solidly inflexible. He nodded once, then stepped into the room. Theron keyed the door closed behind him.

Annya descended the stairs from her lofted sleeping area and gestured to the two starship-inspired couches to his left. She then rounded the opposite end, taking a seat toward the middle. Agent Shan then filed in. He leaned forward slightly, his hand obviously coming to rest just behind her, keeping their bodies remarkably close.

The CorLion captain found he was unable to keep a moderated tone when he spoke, his hurt emerging as anger and frustration. “Were you going to tell me?” he asked. “Or is it not like that?”

His daughter drew a deep breath. Along their bond, Hamilton sensed the block beginning to thaw. What he saw surprised him: Annya’s Force signature, brighter and bolder than ever, wound with a more faint, but entirely visible one he didn’t recognize. Given their current situation, he reasoned it belonged to the dark-haired agent -- a man he had not known was sensitive. It was, he thought, much akin to the link he once shared with his wife, amplified by his daughter’s strength in the Force. “It’s very much like that,” she responded, “as I think you can tell.”

Struck with the intensity of the bond, Hamilton furrowed his brow. “How long?”

Theron exchanged a glance with Annya. “We met just before to the dust-up with my dear departed ancestor,” he answered. “After we ensured Revan was, well, one with the Force, we… discovered a mutual interest.”

“Revan?” Hamilton blinked. It had been quite some time since the Corellian pilot had heard rumors about the infamous fallen-yet-redeemed Jedi having survived the centuries. And, if he was a descendant, the familial connection certainly explained the Force sensitivity he hid so well. Hamilton was still processing this idea when the former operative continued.

“And then, while Ahn was locked in Arcann’s vault, I… had some time to think.” The two shared a grin, eyes alight with shared amusement. “Probably too much time.”

“We’d never quite taken the time to define what this was,” Annya interjected. “We were usually too busy ducking blaster bolts and Force lightning.”

Theron nodded. “But I finally had to admit I… made as many excuses as I could to work with her and then, when she was gone…” He blinked, swallowing as he averted his eyes briefly. “I realized how much I cared about her. That, if I ever saw her again, I’d do everything I could to keep her around.”

The former agent’s voice was low, uneven, and Hamilton found himself swallowing back a lump in his own throat. He realized all too well, the weight of that feeling, especially those first days after Annya disappeared, when she’d been pronounced dead. As father and daughter, their relationship had always been less than ideal, but, when all was said and done, each knew the other loved them.

Though it still stung, the same was true of the day he’d lost Annya’s mother, Adrie. Goodbyes had been said as though it were any other day; the affection and devotion they shared for decades apparent in all they did.

And then, he mused, think of not having those opportunities, of realizing too late just how much she meant. That realization had been Theron Shan’s existence for some time -- at least until he heard of Annya’s survival. It was a staggering thought.

Theron shook his head, the movement dragging Hamilton back to the present. “It took every ounce of discipline I’d learned,” the former SIS operative said, “not to rush to the rescue.”

To this, Annya gave a snort. “To be fair, Lana’s approach was only _slightly_ less gundark-in-a-porcelain-stall,” she commented.

“She places the blame for that squarely on Koth and his definition of ‘three minutes,’” Theron replied. His eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement before sobering. “I just thank the Force she got you out of there.”

A long, quiet moment fell over the two, and Hamilton watched them, feeling a touch out of place. The connection they shared was clearly strong enough to allow clear communication, their facial expressions reacting to the silent conversation. Despite his connection to his daughter, however, there was very little awareness of her emotion through the familial bond. What he did note were the familiar spikes of hope and affection, echoes of those he sensed earlier. Lana’s observation that “Old Man Shan” had not truly been a bachelor for quite some time now made sense.

“Most people only get one chance,” the elder captain began slowly. He pursed his lips and paused as the Force tugged at him, assuaging his frustration and soothing his concerns. Both Theron and his daughter turned to regard him. “One chance to say or show what they feel. I’m… glad you both seem to have figured out what you’ve been given.” He held the dark-haired agent’s attention. “You _will_ take care of her.”

Hamilton watched as the dark-haired agent intertwined his fingers with Annya’s, the two sharing another significant glance before he then looked to back to the senior Emrys. “I intend to,” he replied. Then, lips twitching, he added, “When she’ll let me.”

Glancing to his daughter, he noted a similar smirk across her features, eyes alight as she glanced over her shoulder at her director of operations. In her eyes, he could see the affection and amusement; could sense a hint of the respect and camaraderie between them. It was a look Hamilton recognized well -- the echo of her mother. The recognition was bittersweet. His daughter had met her match, her equal, seeming to sharing a bond as special as the one he had shared with Adrie. Unlike his own relationship with his wife, however, they were now in the middle of a war, Ahn and Theron at the center of the chaos.

Hamilton sighed. He would have to trust the Force to help the two before him weather the maelstrom -- together. His mind cast back to an old saying, purported to be a curse: “May you live in interesting times.” Fortunately or not, he suspected many more interesting times lay ahead for them all.


	17. Second Guesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annya and Theron deal with the emotional fallout following the events of chapter fifteen. (Spoilers for KotFE; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (Female JK)).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been sitting on this one for a while, hoping the muses would find something to catch on, following chapter sixteen. Not so much. So -- here is the post-chapter-fifteen fill-in. I'm still not entirely thrilled with the end, but by this point, both Ahn and Theron are being a bit stubborn. They're ready to share their reactions to "Eternal Throne." As a result, the end of this may shift a little as I retool and refine.
> 
> Posted sans beta. Any mistakes you see are my own.

Seated on the durasteel grating that led out to the commander’s landing pad, Theron Shan closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift. The transition to nighttime operations was fairly well complete, even before the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. Ambient chatter lessened, as did the bang-and-clatter of heavy machinery. He could sense the presence of the maintenance staff, the lead engineer; the various mercenaries and pilots that lingered in the hangar. For the first time since his “awakening” he could make out the individual signatures among the masses. It was an interesting feeling.

Breathing in, breathing out, and focusing on lessons taught a lifetime ago, Theron pushed past the noise. Tentatively he reached out for the Force -- the background hum of all life around them: people, flora, fauna, and beyond. Just as Master Zho had promised, the Force seemed to meet him halfway, embracing him the way one might hold an injured child. He felt the soothing warmth wash over him, a soft, melodic chord echoing through his mind. 

_ Emotion, yet peace; chaos, yet harmony _ , he thought. There had been little of either -- peace or harmony  -- in the hours since their return to Odessen. Sadness, frustration, guilt, and anger shifted through him, a cacophony versus the eerie, demoralized quiet of their personnel. They gave the command staff a wide berth, sensing the enormity of their loss, even without Force sensitivity.

And those with it, he wondered, what had  _ they _ felt? Had they felt the same spike of panic, of fear? The flash of searing pain that followed and then was quickly extinguished?

His pulse and respiration quickened, hands beginning to sweat. It was the first time since his awakening that he had been close enough -- sensitive enough -- to feel someone die… a death  _ he _ could have prevented. 

_ Why _ had he deferred to Annya? Why waste the precious seconds that conversation had cost them? Why couldn’t he have moved faster over the controls? Why hadn’t Ahn been faster with her responses? Why couldn’t they all have survived?

As his anger spiked, fear gripping his heart, he felt a chill on the breeze. Goosebumps rippled across his skin, the hair on the back of his neck rising. He drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he dropped even further into his meditation. Instinctively, he reached once again for the embrace of the Force. Gradually, like the sun emerging from behind a cloud, warmth pushed away the chill -- the fear and anger dissipating with it. The ache -- the sorrow of loss still remained, blunted though it was.

“It never really goes away,” a feminine voice commented. He did not need to open his eyes to know it was Annya. Her presence hovered on the edge of his perception as she physically kept her distance. “We are all diminished when a life is lost -- something your mother taught me when I first arrived on Tython. Having just lost Mother and Aunt Adela, I thought I understood. A lifetime on the front lines showed me I didn’t.”

Theron remained still, breathing out, breathing in. She made no move to join him, nor did she attempt to crowd him via their bond. But she didn’t go away, either. Even without their bond, Annya was still his friend, still his fiancee; she knew he was struggling -- so was she.

His mind drifted to the day they’d rekindled their acquaintance; to the quiet moments since; to the promises made, the vows all but official. He’d promised her always, and she had returned it. Now, it seemed, was their first chance to prove it.

Theron swallowed, opening up the bond between them, easing back into the restrictive nature of his implants. Her grief, sorrow, guilt, and anger mingled with his, concern and affection for him almost palpable. The feelings were raw -- rough -- powerful -- and yet he found he had missed her presence.

“I think I’m beginning to see that,” he replied quietly. “It’s why she left, why she came here -- she  _ felt _ them all die, didn’t she?”

He felt her hand on his shoulder and he turned to find her lowering herself to sit beside him. “I don’t know what she felt,” she began, “but it wouldn’t surprise me. She was a leader and a protector of the Order for so long. To lose so many would have to rob someone of their hope, their faith.”

“I didn’t even really  _ know _ Senator Cordran, yet when the pod exploded…” Shaking his head, Theron rubbed a hand over his face. “I’d never felt anyone die before. Never thought I’d… I never  _ wanted _ to.”

Frustration tumbled through him once again, and he sensed what he could only describe as an emotional wince, a wave of regret rippling from Annya. “I know I’ve said it before, but I never intended for any of this to happen -- the bond, your sensitivity; my father’s shooting; now, Senator Cordran. I only -- I wanted to save them.” She shook her own head. “I never wanted to be the galaxy’s last hope. I knew what it could --  what it  _ would  _ cost.”

“The war with the Empire was messy enough,” he conceded. He turned looking to her and studying her features for a long moment: the faded pallor of her skin, the soft swells beneath bloodshot eyes, the missing sparkle. The facade of Commander and Master Jedi was gone, her own hope diminished with the setback.

And then he realized: she had felt their deaths, too.

“Hells,” he said. “I’m… sorry. It should have occurred to me --”

Annya shook her head. “It’s all right, Theron,” she said, then gave a wan smile. “If it’s any consolation, it took a few moments brooding on my own to realize you’d never felt that before. You usually handle all this so well that I -- I took it for granted.”

The former SIS operative grimaced. It  _ was _ the first operation he had run since the presentation of his Force sensitivity. His boyhood training could only take him so far. “I don’t think either of us was prepared for it,” he replied. “And it’s time I stopped relying on lessons I learned as a kid. Is it -- would it be unusual for a Green Jedi to take her husband as a padawan?”

“I can’t imagine it’s common,” the Jedi began, “but we  _ do _ try and keep it in the family.” A spark flared ever so briefly across their bond -- hope, affection, awe, wry amusement. “Does that mean you still want to marry me?”

Theron nodded, reaching and threading his fingers through hers. “I meant what I said, Ahn -- always.” A small smirk played across his lips. “A wedding just makes it official… and ensures Hamilton doesn’t come after me with a scattergun.”

“Considering he caught you leaving my quarters in the morning,” Annya replied with a wry grin, “I’m surprised he didn’t borrow one from the armory.” She pushed herself to her feet, offering her hand. “Come on, Padawan. We should try and get some sleep.”

Taking her hand, the agent rose, reeling her in. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement as he lowered his head. “One one condition.”

Her expression mirrored his. The impish gleam sparkling in her eyes was familiar, mirth and affection bubbling up through their bond. It was a satisfying change from the overriding silence, followed by the angst and frustration of the past few hours. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Don’t… call me ‘padawan.’”

His forced departure from the temple on Haashimut over twenty years prior left an indelible mark, and he knew Ahn sensed it -- a flash of disappointment, embarrassment, and frustration. It was a response he couldn't help, even now, with his newfound sensitivity. Annya slipped her arms around his neck, fingers trailing through the mass of dark hair at the nape of his neck. Her eyes were warm with sincerity as she held his gaze. “Deal."

Nodding, he then allowed his hands to drop naturally to her hips, and she stepped forward to close the remaining distance between them. The attention of a few pilots and mercs focused on them, but he found he didn't much care. “Now, about that sleep..." he rumbled, lips brushing hers. 

He felt, rather than saw, her smile. It was a smile she echoed some time later, curling into his side, as sleep slowly claimed them in the cool darkness of their quarters. 


	18. Special Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend makes an appearance, delivering something once thought lost. (KotFE spoilers; Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (female JK).)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with the previous, been sitting on this one for a few weeks, waiting to see what else the muses were going to pull together. There's a follow-on scene or two in the works, so we'll see where they end up.
> 
> Follows sometime after "Second Guesses," somewhere between KotFE and KotET. As always, posted sans beta, with all mistakes my own.

Barely stifling a yawn, Hylo Visz made her way toward the logistics landing pad, absently scrolling through a list of the days arrivals. Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She paused, looking up. On the platform, she spotted a freighter -- Corellian YT-model, it seemed, modified almost beyond recognition. At the bottom of the ramp, a slender yellow Twi’lek stood, talking to Dr. Ogurobb, the Hutt scientist-in-residence. Behind them, Alliance lab techs busied themselves unloading several pallets of sealed crates.

Her husband, con man and all-around weasel, Gault Rennow, stood nearby, leaning against a support beam. Hylo joined him, reaching for his cup of caf without looking. “What’s _he_ up to?” she asked.

“The evil scientist?” Gault asked. Hylo nodded. The red-skinned Devaronian took his mug back. “No idea. But it’s important enough to drag the slug outta his cave before breakfast.”

“Good point.” Looking down, the smuggler scrolled up to the top of the schedule. “Well, it’s on the list: ‘Detritus and salvage from unidentified Imperial shipwreck.’” She shook her head with a frown. “Wasn’t expecting him to sign for it personally. Usually sends one of his ‘apprentices’ to deal with the paperwork.”

As she watched, the Hutt scientist gave his approximation of a bow to the Twi’lek, then turned -- slowly -- toward the freight elevator. His team and the pallets of salvage followed.

When she refocussed on the pilot, she was surprised to find her stalking toward their position. A scowl distorted her features and she pushed up her shirtsleeves aggressively. “Fine!” she muttered. “Told you, I going!” Her eyes lit upon Hylo’s. “You!”

“Me?” Hylo arched her brows. “I got nothin’ to do with the mad doctor’s plans, captain.”

“No -- you know Theron Shan, yes?”

Blinking, Hylo exchanged a glance with Gault. She noted the heavy Rylothian accent and broken Basic. She had also noted that the captain appeared to have been talking to herself. The logistics chief wasn’t exactly sure how much she should say.

“Sure,” Gault drawled. “Though I think he and the commander are sleeping in this morning.” He leaned closer, adding in a stage whisper, “Wouldn’t wake him. He’s really cranky without his caf.”

The yellow Twi’lek scowled. “Don’t want to see stupid spy anyway. Only doing favor for old friends,” she pouted. Reaching down, she withdrew a long, cylindrical item from the cargo pocket of her grey flight suit. She waved it at Hylo. “You give him this. Crazy old Jedi not happy till I return -- till _you_ return.”

Hylo took the item with her, surprised at the solid but balanced mass. “What crazy old Jedi?”

“Stupid spy’s old master. Supposed to be resting, but not till I give back to Theron.” She cast an accusatory glance toward the empty space beside her before looking back to Hylo.

For her part, Hylo remained as neutral as possible… despite the fact she had just learned the former SIS super-spy had trained as a Jedi. There were going to be _so_ many questions later. She turned her attention toward the package, examining the item. “It’s not gonna blow up, is it?”

“Not in the right hands, Jedi say,” the captain replied. She placed her hand over Hylo’s forearm. “You give, yes?”

Surprised by the sincerity in the Twi’lek’s brown eyes, Hylo nodded. “As soon as I see him this morning.”

“Good.”

Without another word, the Twi’lek turned on her heel and headed toward her ship. Gault sipped his caf, watching until she disappeared up the ramp. “The Old Man has some real interesting friends.”

“You can say that again.”

They stood and continued to observe until the ship powered up and lifted off. Within a few more moments, it disappeared beyond the atmosphere.

“You gonna open it?”

Hylo shook her head. “Nope.”

“Spoiled sport.” Gault sipped more of his caf. “Did you know who she was?”

Again, Hylo shook her head. “Nope.” She slipped the package into the cargo pocket of her own trousers, then glanced to her datapad, accessing the ship registry. “Teff’ith Zho,” she read.

“Teff’ith.” Gault frowned into his cup. “Wasn’t that Rogan’s hired gun?”

“Rogan? As in ‘the Butcher’?” Hylo gave her own frown. “Haven’t thought of him in years.”

“Well, he’s been dead a few years,” Gault said with a chuckle. “Out of sight, out of mind.” He paused. “Except, of course, where you’re concerned, my lovely blossom.”

The female smuggler gave a snort. “Good save. Now… what do you want?”

“I’m just _dying_ to know what little present Captain Teff’ith left for the Old Man.”

“You _know_ what it is, Ty.”

“Gault, dear; _Gault_ .” Hylo rolled her eyes and he continued. “And I _suspect_ . But, if we open it up, we get confirmation and a _huge_ scoop on the scuttlebutt.”

Pursing her lips, the smuggler considered the item for a long moment. “Not this time,” she said at length. “This time feels a bit too… personal.”

“Fine,” Rennow began, standing from his relaxed position. “But if it turns out to be a pipe bomb instead of a lightsaber, I’ll know who to blame.”

“And how to fill the insurance claim, too, huh?”

They shared a sidelong glance as they fell into step. “You know me so well,” the con man replied.

“A little _too_ well sometimes.”

Gault chuckled. “That’s what you get for marrying me…”

* * *

 

Theron Shan was making his way down the cavern corridor toward his -- the Commander’s -- the quarters he shared with Commander Emrys -- when Hylo finally caught up with him. As was typical for early morning, he held a datapad in one hand, cup of caf in the other.

“Hey! Old Man!”

He paused, looking up from his datapad with a sigh, his brows furrowing. “Not you, too, Hylo,” he groused. “I haven’t had enough caf yet to deal with you _and_ the kriffing nickname.”

The smuggler’s grin widened. “What? Commander keep you up past your bedtime, Old Man?”

Hylo watched the former SIS operative’s face flush red, first from embarrassment, then effort as he nearly choked on his caf. “That’s -- _cough_ \-- none of your -- _coughcough_ \-- business,” he rasped.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” she replied with a laugh.

Shan regarded her with an expression that was uniquely his, a half-scowl-half smirk. “Was there a point to this harassment, or you just having fun?”

“Bit of both,” Hylo said. “Got a shipment in this morning -- some deep space salvage Ogurobb… _procured_ … to sift through for his latest project. Captain was a yellow Twi’lek, spoke broken Basic. And not very highly of you.”

Theron’s brows rose. “Teff’ith?” Teff’ith was _here_?”

“That was the name in the arrivals log,” Hylo answered. “Said you were stupid and she never should have agreed to the shipment, but she owed someone a favor.”

He snorted. “That’s Teff’ith, all right. She didn’t want to see me?”

“Didn’t seem to.” She held out the cylindrical item, still wrapped in the soft, yellow cloth. “Said I was supposed to give you this -- some ‘crazy old Jedi’ wouldn’t leave her alone until she returned it to you.”

The crease in his brow deepened as he tucked his datapad under his arm and reached for the item. “She didn’t happen to say _where_ she found it, did she?”

Hylo shook her head. She then handed the bundle to him. “If she did, I didn’t catch it. Coulda been part of the salvage Doc Ogurobb bought.”

“Right.” He blinked, looking up from the item for the first time since she revealed it. “Thanks, Hylo.”

“No problem… Old Man.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but did not cross his features. Still focussed on the wrapped item, he continued into the quarters, without even his customary nod to HK-55 or Z0-0M. Any questions, it seemed, would have to wait for another time.


	19. No Light Without Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unlike so many times before, when her words were taken as platitudes, he could now sense the sincerity behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had the bare-bone outline of this lingering in my TOR writing journal for a long while. Then an awesome TOR mutual of mine over on tumblr responded with an ask prompt. In the midst writing of that little nugget, I realized this had to precede it.
> 
> Takes place some nebulous time after "Special Delivery," though it would appear that Satele's visit would shift this somewhere after KotET... but well before Iokath because I'm blatantly ignoring it and Umbara at the moment. ::side-eyes BioWare::
> 
> As usual, KotFE/KotET spoiler warnings apply, though are minimally needed here. References Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (female JK) and Satele Shan/Jace Malcom.
> 
> As always, posted without beta. Thus, all errors or mistakes are my own.

Night began to settle over Odessen even as Theron knelt on the durasteel catwalk above the hangar. Closing his eyes and reaching out, he could sense the maintenance staff at shift change; the wry amusement and inebriation of the smugglers lurking in the lounge; the focussed boredom of watch staff in the war room; the sharp concentration of Jedi, Sith, and everything in between as practice continued in the Force Enclave. Across the way, the amphibious creatures native to the standing puddles in the landing field started their evening song, while their insectoid cousins warmed up.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, exhaling quietly through pursed lips. The breath warmed him, the Force welcoming him. _Emotion_ , he thought, _yet peace_. This quiet -- this moment -- was the most peaceful he had felt all day. The unconstrained ripples of nervous energy fluttering through the base since morning had set him on edge, amplified by the reason for that energy: A visit by former Grandmaster Satele Shan. Curious Alliance personnel made excuses to be present as both Lana and Annya gave the famous Jedi a guided tour. And the rumors of his own ties to the Jedi master -- that he was her son -- circulated rampantly for not the first time. Those personnel not assigned to the War Room were highly disappointed to report they had seen nothing in the exchange between Jedi and spy to confirm the suspicions. That had been intentional. Rumors were one thing; confirmation was another. And he felt his mother had lost enough, without losing the respect and honor inherently hers. She deserved to keep a few secrets.

A tug on his awareness drew him out of the memory. Drawing another deep breath, he shifted his focus to the one item he had been avoiding: The lightsaber currently laying on the decking before him.

Unwrapping it in the privacy of his quarters, he had been struck by the worn elegance of it. The hilt itself was simply constructed -- a narrow tube with a switch and attenuator, the blade emitter standing off by a small measure, the rippled metallic surface a muted golden color. He recalled the hum as Master Zho had brought it to life, the glow of the pale blue blade as it trailed streaks through the air. He also recalled the clatter of metal against metal as he’d dropped it to the deck of the Sun Razer.

He’d known without looking that the kyber crystal was intact. Now, sinking deeper into his meditation, he considered it in the Force. A complicated web of blue tendrils danced in, around, and through it; whispers echoed through his connection, broken snippets forming words he didn’t understand and didn’t need to. The crystal was telling its story, sharing the history of his former master wound deep within.

Eyes closed, still listening to the tale, he felt the approach of a familiar signature, heard the soft footfall behind him on the catwalk. He cocked his head to the side in consideration. His mother. She was… hesitant, unsure. _Odd to sense in someone usually so confident_ , he thought. _At least on the outside._

She paused just off to his left. He could sense her focus shift, surprise and curiosity spiking through her, interlaced with suspicion. She had noticed the saber, then. “Have you really had it all this time?” she asked quietly.

Theron shook his head. Drawing in one last deep breath, he drew back from the meditative focus -- drew back from the saber -- and opened his eyes. Stars twinkled in the sky beyond and a cool breeze began to sweep through the hangar. How long _had_ he been meditating?

“I wasn’t lying when I said it was left behind in the chaos,” he said at length. A grimace flickered across his features. “He gave it to me, still telling me almost to his dying breath, that it was my legacy. I used it… as a distraction. Dropped it on the deck so I could hit Mekhis with one of my darts.” He shook his head. “It should have gone up with the rest of that damned ship.”

Satele considered him for a long moment. “And yet, here it is.”

“And here it is.” He swallowed back the lump of emotion that rose in his throat, exhaling slowly. “I wish he could have delivered it himself.”

“As do I. But he died doing what he’d been called to do.” She tilted her own head, and Theron could sense her perception shift yet again as she examined him through the Force. “He’d be proud of you.”

Relaxing his stance slightly, he settled a bit farther back onto his heels. “I don’t know about that. And I don’t know that he’d be surprised by this newest wrinkle. He always tried to train me as though I was a Force prodigy like my mother and not all-but Force-blind, like my father.”

“Yet those lessons paid off.”

“You’re not wrong,” he conceded. “And I wouldn’t be lost without his lessons, but it definitely made Ahn’s job easier.”

Discomfort flickered through her, but dissipated before Theron could comment. She offered a rueful smile. A hint of amusement even warmed her voice as she spoke. “Jedi training _is_ a family affair for Corellians. You should get used to it.”

“I…” The tingling warmth of a blush crept up his neck and across his cheeks. His own potential legacy was not a topic he wished to discuss with his estranged mother at this particular moment. He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, willing the rosy tint away as he cleared his throat. “Probably… not anytime soon…”

Her smile had slipped decidedly sideways as she knelt beside him on the grated walkway. “And how _is_ your training going?”

“Well,” he replied. “Slowly.”

Satele regarded him again for a long moment. “By your own choice,” she said at length. It was a statement, rather than a question.

Theron nodded. It was obvious that she could sense him as easily as he could read her in that moment. He paused, considering carefully how much he wished to confess. War had changed them both and had, as a result, changed their relationship. What had once been cool and formal seemed to slowly be thawing into something more cordial with a better understanding. He wasn’t yet sure how to feel about that, but decided to push forward.

“When I was sent from the temple on Haashimut,” he began, “I was devastated. I’d been raised as a Jedi, but I just… didn’t have that touch, that ability. I was angry about that for a long time. But I’d learned a lot of the mental discipline, and eventually I realized it suited my work with SIS well. Whether it was the Force or sheer, dumb luck, it kept me alive more times than it probably should have.”

Drawing in a deep breath, he gave a long exhale before continuing. “It’s been almost thirty years. I’ve had… an okay life. Gotten by without a Force push or a lightsaber; my darts and blasters have been just fine, so…”

“So why now?”

“Exactly.” He nodded. “Why now? Why not then? Is it permanent? Or will I wake up tomorrow and be back to plain, all-but-Force-blind me? What if --?”

His voice caught in his throat, possibilities striking fear deep in his core. He straightened, feeling a chill wash over him. “What if, one day, this bond I share with Ahn is just… gone?”

Her hand was warm on his shoulder, and he could feel her tentatively reaching out, seeking to help him soothe the despair that threatened. “Your father,” she started slowly, carefully choosing her words, “has always been Force-blind and probably always will be. That never affected how we felt -- how we _feel_ for one another.”

“ _Feel_?” Theron echoed, raising his brow. _That_ was a change, he thought.

The former Grandmaster nodded once, but she was not yet prepared to talk to _him_ about her relationship with his father… not that he wanted to hear the details. Still, it was a surprising change. And he didn’t know if it was gratifying or terrifying that they were actually _together_ and talked about him, perhaps as the parents they were.

“You’ve obviously confided in your father a lot more than me,” she continued. “I’m glad you've trusted him enough to do so. We’ve talked about you; about Annya. From what he’s said, you loved her even before her disappearance. Despite everything -- the Order, her training, _our_ connection -- she felt the same. I doubt that feeling will ever change; linked or not, you _are_ bonded.” She paused, shaking her head. “You cannot let fear hold you back… in your relationship with her, or in your training. Especially if the Force has led you here.”

A long, silent moment washed over them as he considered what his mother -- not the Grandmaster -- had said. He allowed his memory to wander, back to those first moments on Carrick Station, Manaan, and Yavin; to the shift in his thinking and feelings toward a certain Jedi. he thought, too, of the time alone, without her, followed by their reunion on Odessen. His awareness of her had always been present: a tiny tether, drawing them together time and again. All of it had taken place well before his “awakening.”

So, if he woke up the next morning, Force-blind as his father, he would survive. _It would be agonizing_ , he thought, _but survivable._ He just hoped it never came to that.

Blinking, he looked to his mother. “Odd advice from the Grandmaster,” he rumbled.

“ _Former_ Grandmaster,” Satele reminded him. “My perspective has… changed somewhat. Years of solitude with the Force ghost of an old enemy as your only companion would change _anyone’s_ outlook.” She gave a slight shrug. “Your future wife is Corellian. Even I acknowledge she has to find her own path. And so do you.”

“I…” Once again, he felt his voice catch in his throat as emotion sought to overwhelm him. As with many powerful Jedi, his mother had become a legend in her own lifetime, casting a long shadow over most of his life. His inadequacies at the temple on Haashimut had only reinforced the booming voice in his head that kept telling him he was never good enough to be a Jedi and thus, to be her son. That voice had quieted over the years, modulated by his own efforts and success as an operative; it never disappeared. Even now, it questioned her motives: Was she so accepting because it was clear he could now wield the legacy she left him? Because it seemed _the Force_ had led him to this moment?

Anger and frustration lanced through him, dredging with it echoes of his departure from the enclave. _Of course that’s why,_ he thought coldly. _You’ve proven yourself capable of wielding ten generations of Jedi legacy -- shown that you aren’t the boring, mundane little boy that was shunned. And with the Order in shambles,_ now _she’s willing to claim you._

Scowling, he looked to her, even as he once again felt the familiar tug on his awareness. His attention was drawn immediately to the saber. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He realized at once how cold he felt -- from his fingers to his toes, and all points in between. Warmth emanated from the saber, from the wispy tendrils extending from it, drawing him in and engaging his focus.

Theron realized, too, that warmth emanated from his mother, illuminating her in the Force as the favored child that she was. Unlike so many times before, when her words were taken as platitudes, he could now sense the sincerity behind them. She _did_ love him; had _always_ loved him, despite leaving him behind. That was her pain and anguish -- the shadow that threatened her peace in the quiet moments. But, as a student of the Force, she knew she could not change the past. She could only move forward from the decisions she had made, right or wrong.

He drew a deep, cleansing breath, expelling it as he opened his eyes. “I’ve never been great at communicating feelings, so I’ll just say… thank you for that.” A rueful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It’s probably about mid-morning on Coruscant. A little later than usual, but... care to join me?”

His mother took the offering for what it was. Giving her own halting smile, she nodded. “I think I’d appreciate that.” She shifted into position and drew a deep breath. Together, mother and son lapsed into silence, punctuated only by their measured breathing and the occasional clatter of tools in the hangar below.

**Author's Note:**

> SW/SWTOR sideblog at: http://theemryslegacy.tumblr.com ...


End file.
